


Unfettered

by Heizpilz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Angst, Canon compliant until the end of S3, Everybody Dies, Everybody Lives, Hopefully that doesn't include the writer, If you can get through the first chapter you should be alright afterwards, M/M, Stiles's POV, nobody knows what's going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12062835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heizpilz/pseuds/Heizpilz
Summary: In the morning, Stiles simply doesn’t get up. What would be the point? Everything he cares about – everyone he cares about – is gone. Dead and buried, quite literally. True, there are some people left on the periphery of what was once his life, but he doesn’t give a flying fuck about them.Or: The one where Stiles desperately tries to turn his life’s tags from 'everybody dies' into 'everybody lives'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for suicide and suicidal ideation (very brief).

 

**_ Day 1 _ **

 

In the morning, Stiles simply doesn’t get up. What would be the point? Everything he cares about – every _one_ he cares about – is gone. Dead and buried, quite literally. True, there are some people left on the periphery of what was once his life, but he doesn’t give a flying fuck about them. Why should he care about Danny, when he’s lost Scott and Derek’s gone? Or Rafael McCall when his own dad and Melissa are dead?

 

They all fought the good fight for over two years, losing Allison in the process but bearing up somehow. And then, in the space of twelve hellish months, the funerals came hard and fast. Lydia was first, mauled by a rogue werewolf – again – and this time her banshee powers couldn’t save her. Even now Stiles can almost feel his incredulous shock because no one else was supposed to die. Scott had said so and that was what they were working on. That was the plan. He still remembers how numb he was during the funeral and how much anger he carried afterwards.

 

Five weeks later Kira drowned in the lake in the Beacon Hills Preserve in a blaze of electrified glory, trying to kill a kelpie that was luring unwary passers-by into the water. Shortly thereafter Melissa suffered fatal injuries in a car accident involving a drunk driver. Scott was broken beyond repair, thinking that it was somehow his fault that the people he loved had to die. Even Stiles could only reach him on a superficial level. What was left of the pack was rudderless and Stiles and Derek took the lead to give them some direction. It was around that time that Isaac came back, to a place that was in a worse state than when he’d left. To say he took it hard would be an understatement.

 

Malia was killed by a hunter a month later and Stiles regretted that he and Scott had ever forced her to transform back to her human form. He had to admit that they didn’t do her any favors bringing her into their lives. Naturally, he, Derek and Chris hunted down the culprit, but Chris died in the subsequent battle and, like all revenge, it seemed like a hollow victory. Stiles should have listened when Derek had warned him about that. After all, Derek was kind of an expert on it.

 

His dad and Jordan Parrish got caught up in a bank robbery not long after and were killed in a hail of bullets. It seemed a bizarrely mundane way to go. Stiles needn’t ever have worried about dragging his father into his strange and dangerous life among werewolves, banshees, kanimas and darachs, because in the end it wasn’t anything supernatural that killed him.

 

He lived with Scott and his douche of a dad for a couple of weeks but found himself inexorably drawn to the only man left standing tall: Derek. It seemed like a reprieve, like a glimmer of hope that he found something with Derek that he never had before: calm. In a quiet and melancholy way he found a new home. Derek, who’d gone through so much, showed him how to survive when his life fell apart, how to never give up and how to find some small happiness in it. Sometimes Stiles felt guilty for how much he loved and was loved. It seemed disrespectful to the people he’d lost.

 

Then Scott got challenged by another alpha and went into the fight without telling anyone. He never came back and Stiles suspected that he’d never intended to either. He felt betrayed and furious but not as much as he did when Isaac killed himself with wolfsbane three weeks later. It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand the sentiment, but _he_ was still here, wasn’t he? _He_ was still struggling and trying, not wanting to admit that sometimes, just for a little while, Scott’s – and even Isaac’s solution – seemed incredibly tempting.

 

But he had Derek and Derek wasn’t one to give up, _ever_. He was always there, supportive and understanding, listening to Stiles’s sobbing tears, wailing rants and sad reminiscences with equal patience. But in general, Derek just being there, his arms around Stiles, his hands in his hair, driving him to school, talking to him at dinner, making him forget during sex was enough to help him survive. It gave him hope that one day, he might be happy again in some small way.

 

They talked about leaving – a lot. But Stiles wasn’t ready. He wanted to finish school where everybody knew about his losses and no one expected him to _‘cheer up’_. He wasn’t ready to leave the place that had so many memories. What if he forgot the wrong ones and was only left with the ones that could break him? He wasn’t ready to live again just yet. Too much had happened in too short a time. He’d leave when it was time to go to college, when they need never come back. How was he to know it would be too late?

 

Two days after graduation, Derek was burnt to death at the loft in a fire that gutted the whole building. That was a week ago. Stiles knows it wasn’t an accident. Derek’s instincts and reflexes were too sharp. He would never have been caught with no escape. If the police agree with him, they’re not saying. Stiles is just the former sheriff’s kid now. Even Agent McCall has a lot of pity but no information for him. And Stiles no longer cares. Why should he? For revenge? It wouldn’t bring Derek back. It won’t change anything. Not the tiniest little thing. He just hopes Derek went out quickly and fighting, like he would have wanted. If someone killed him, he hopes they were kind enough or focused on his destruction enough to kill him before they set the fire, hopes Derek didn’t have to go through that at least.

 

He’s too tired to do anything anymore, so he’s going to stay in bed for the day or maybe the week or even the rest of his life. Why not? What’s the point of anything? He’s come back to his house because he has nowhere else to go. This latest blow may just break him. Everything’s agony. It’s only the thought of how much Derek endured in his life without ever giving up that makes Stiles want to do the same.

 

But it’s hard. He lies in his childhood room in his old bed and tries desperately to find a reason to go on. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a great idea. He can almost believe he can hear his dad getting up and preparing breakfast. It’s so very familiar that he remembers all his dad’s little habits, how the coffeemaker was always prepared the night before and was switched on first, making the house smell so much like home even before he was old enough to drink the stuff. If he strains his ears he can almost hear the gurgling sound. His eyes fill with tears.

 

“Please.” His voice is rough and he’s not sure what he’s pleading for. For his life to be over already? For Derek not to have been such a paragon of endurance? For his permission to just give up? He doesn’t even think to plead for what happens next because you don’t plead for the impossible.

 

The door opens and Stiles turns hastily in his bed because he should be alone in the house. All his family and friends are dead, so this can only mean an attack. Part of him is surprised that anyone even bothers because he’s always been just the sidekick, the one who tags along, never any real threat. And part of him is so fucking relieved that finally somebody’s coming for him when he’s defenseless and has an excuse to lose this fight. And, _oh Scott, I get it now!_

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” his dad says in a low voice. “You should get ready. We have to be there in an hour.” Then he withdraws, shutting the door very softly.

 

Stiles has never moved so fast, not even to save his own life when they were fighting yet another supernatural creature. He’s out of bed and in the hallway before his dad has reached the end of it. Then he nearly topples both of them down the stairs as he practically jumps into his father’s arms.

 

“Woah, steady on,” the sheriff says, as he returns the hug, gently stroking his son’s back. He’s not letting go in that half-embarrassed way that they sometimes have when they’re showing their feelings too openly and don’t know how to stop without being awkward. Today they just hang on.

 

“I had the most awful dream,” Stiles almost sobs out. “I dreamt you were dead. And Scott. And Derek. All my friends. I’m so glad you’re not dead.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” comes the gruff reply. “But I’m alright. Nothing’s going to happen to me. It’s natural to dream of losing more people when you’ve lost someone close to you. Doesn’t mean it comes true.”

 

Stiles stiffens and then lets go of his father gradually. He steps back, confused and frightened, wanting to be able to go back to bed and pretend _all_  of the last year has been a dream. He can’t remember how he got here, what happened yesterday or the day before. The dream was so vivid that he has no idea which parts are true and which were the nightmare. He doesn’t want to know, not really, but he asks anyway, quietly, his voice already breaking. “Who’d I lose?”

 

His dad looks devastated at the prospect of having to say it out loud and it’s this expression that makes Stiles remember or maybe just making the leap, connecting the dots. So he says it for him because no parent should be made to break their own child’s heart twice. “Lydia.”

 

He remembers then, that she died two days after the werewolf attacked her. His father had to tell him and hold him down because he was screaming and crying and wouldn’t calm down until Scott came over.

 

But he also remembers that he’s already been to her funeral – almost a year ago. It was big and lavish, just like Lydia would have wanted it. He threw flowers on her coffin and cried unashamedly on the way home. But everything after her death must have been one long nightmare. A very bizarre one, because he and Derek were a couple and that’s just… They’re friends now, brothers in arms, even partners in crime sometimes, but Stiles is pretty convinced that the strange feelings he has when he’s with Derek are very one-sided – feelings that are suddenly amplified after his dream. It felt so very real. It still does.

 

“I’ll go and get ready,” he says and walks woodenly to his room. He can feel his dad’s presence at the end of the hall, but he doesn’t turn to look at him. He can’t, he’s too confused. If he sees his father’s pity, he will lose it.

 

 

 

 

He loses it anyway. Later. At the funeral. He’s sitting in the fifth row with his dad on one side and Scott and Melissa on the other. This is what déjà vu must feel like. The flower arrangement looks exactly like it did in his dream. Same with the photo the Martins chose to put on the casket. It’s closed of course, because of her injuries and he thinks that Lydia would have hated not to be the most beautiful corpse the town has ever seen. It freaks him out that he had the exact same thought in his dream and Scott puts his arm around him when he gets agitated.

 

It doesn’t feel right. _He_ doesn’t feel right. He’s upset, yes, but not as much as he should be. It feels more like he’s already grieved for her. The pain isn’t keen enough, his memories are sentimental and sad but not desperately sharp and jagged. It’s as if he’s really lived through that year from his dream, worked through his grief and came to terms with it, until it got buried under more grief. Maybe he should be grateful because it helps him get through this. The way he remembers it, he was almost catatonic on the day of the funeral.

 

He hugged Scott when he first saw him this morning and luckily the funeral accounted for holding on to him for too long. They hug – of course, they do, they’re bros – but not usually with such desperation. He didn’t want to tell Scott that he dreamed he was dead. That would just be weird. He doesn’t want to make an already trying day worse.

 

“Jackson’s here,” he says when he looks around. That’s new. In his dream Jackson didn’t bother to come all the way from England to attend Lydia’s funeral.

 

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Scott gives a shrug. “Just because you’re broken up, doesn’t mean you don’t go to someone’s funeral.”

 

Stiles doesn’t answer because the service is starting. It’s a relief that things aren’t exactly the same as they were in his dream. The flowers probably had some significance for Lydia, so that’s how he ‘saw’ them in his dream and the photograph of Lydia is very pretty. Maybe he’s seen that somewhere before as well.

 

He keeps looking over to where Jackson is sitting in the second row across the aisle. He’s flanked by his parents, or adoptive parents, or whatever, and Stiles is pretty sure they also left Beacon Hills after the whole kanima thing. Maybe they even moved to London with Jackson, he’s not sure. Nice of them to come back for this. They must have thought the world of Lydia. Maybe for them, if not for their son, she was the one who got away.

 

Jackson looks around at him, as if he can feel his stare and Stiles averts his eyes, looking at the other mourners. He’s looking for Derek, wondering why he’s not here. Lydia was an ally at the very least, so he should be here – regardless of the fact that Stiles would feel inexplicably better if he was. He also can’t see Malia or Kira but quite a few of the other guests seem to be looking at _him_ , hastily turning away when he catches their eyes. He can’t understand why he’s such an attraction all of a sudden.

 

“You alright?” Scott whispers.

 

“Yeah. I feel like people are staring at me.”

 

Scott looks around with conspicuous furtiveness. “Well, it’s understandable. You were there.”

 

“Where?”

 

But Scott's just completely lost focus, looking over his shoulder at someone, and by the soft expression on his face, it’s probably Kira. Stiles follows his gaze and lets out a squeak, which he tries to cover with a fake cough, not fooling anyone. He doesn’t care because across the aisle and two rows down, there’s... Allison? _Allison_. Al-li-son! Who has been dead for a lot longer than Lydia. _Over a year_ longer. Hers was the first funeral he went to since his mother died. He spent it concentrating on supporting a distraught Scott and trying not to feel guilty and ashamed about how she died.

 

While he’s a little fuzzy about what’s going on with him today, he knows – _knows!_ – with certainty that Allison shouldn’t be here. He stares at her, his hand making vague pawing motions in the air trying to pat Scott’s arm to attract his attention, which is already glued to Allison anyway. Like it always... _was_.

 

Finally Scott grabs his hand out of the air by the wrist and shakes it a bit. “What?”

 

Stiles is still trying to process the fact that Allison, who died in Scott’s arms, fatally wounded by the oni, is sitting just a few yards from him. That he’s at a funeral that feels like he’s attended it before. That Jackson is here, but neither Malia or Kira are. And where _the hell_ is Derek? He fails miserably. His breath stops. Literally. He can’t draw air and he’s not even scared about that, just glued to Allison because her being here is the really scary part. Scarier than half his friends being absent. Scarier even than Lydia being dead.

 

He can hear both Scott and his father talking to him, telling him to stay calm, to breathe. Finally his dad gets up and Scott half ushers and half carries him down the aisle, flanked by the sheriff. Now _everybody_ is staring at him. Even Allison, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed but smiling that little supportive smile that she sometimes has. _Had!_

 

Stiles makes it outside the church hall and collapses onto his knees in the vestibule, his father squatting in front of him and talking to him in a deliberately calm voice. It takes a long time until his words make sense, until he registers Scott’s hand rubbing his back and even longer until there’s the first shuddering breath, filling his lungs with much needed air.

 

“Do you want me to take you home, son? People will understand.”

 

Stiles shakes his head. “No. I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go back inside?”

 

The sheriff shrugs. “Not big on funerals.”

 

Knowing that his father finds this just as hard as he does, Stiles is grateful that he’s come to support him. He bites down on his instinctive response of telling him he’d better get used to it. Because all those funerals that he remembers weren’t _real_. That was just a nightmare, a very realistic and seemingly endless nightmare. But in that nightmare _and_ in what he considers his memories, Allison died _first_.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he murmurs more to himself. He honestly can’t tell anymore where reality ends and his nightmare begins.

 

“You were there, dude,” Scott says, now standing next to his father in front of him. “You have a right to be freaked out.”

 

“I was _where_?”

 

Both of them look at him as if he’s crazy and there’s so much pity there that he wants to scream. It’s like they know there’s something not quite right with him as much as he does.

 

“It’s okay not to want to remember,” his dad assures him.

 

“You’re freaking me out, Dad. Remember _what_? What happened?”

 

Scott looks unhappily but also kind of furtively at the sheriff. “Maybe I should talk to him for a bit?”

 

His father sighs and nods. He gave up thinking that he has more sway over his son than his best friend years ago. “I’ll go back in, but I’ll just be in the back row. Come and get me if he gets worse again. _Immediately_.” He grabs Stiles’s shoulder in a supportive squeeze for a few seconds and slips back into the church.

 

Scott watches him until the door is gently shut before rounding on Stiles. “What are you doing, man?” he hisses, sounding more confused than anything else. “The cover story. Even if you don’t want to remember what really happened, stick to the cover story.”

 

“What cover story?”

 

Scott frowns, looking like an adorable – and very puzzled – puppy with his shaggy hair and expression of utter bewilderment.

 

Stiles is startled by a sudden realization. “What’s with the hair, dude?”

 

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Scott makes an instinctive hand motion to smooth it down when it isn’t out of place to begin with. “Will you concentrate? Do you remember the cover story?”

 

Stiles shakes his head, barely listening. Scott has the wrong hair! It’s too long and down rather than short at the bottom and spiked up at the top as it should be. This is how he wore it during their sophomore year. He hasn’t had this style for ages.

 

“Try and remember: you were on the lacrosse field and a big animal attacked her. You ran to her and the animal ran off. You couldn’t see it very well because it was dark, so you can’t be sure what sort of animal it was.”

 

“That’s not what happened.” That’s not even where she died. She died out jogging early in the morning. The ‘cover story’ would never hold water.

 

“Yeah, I know that,” Scott sounds a little exasperated now. “But we can hardly tell your dad that Peter Hale bit her.”

 

“Peter?”

 

Scott has obviously given up on explanations and just looks at him with concern. “What’s up with you today?”

 

“I had this dream. Everybody died. You were dead, Scott. And my dad. And Derek. And I have all these memories of people dying in my head. And I know it was just a dream but I also know that _this_ isn’t what happened. Lydia got bitten by Peter in our sophomore year. But she didn’t die. She turned and became a banshee.”

 

“A what?... Dude,” Scott says gravely and squats on the floor next to him. “This _is_ our sophomore year.”

 

“No, it’s not. I graduated two weeks ago. I remember it. Derek was there.” His voice cracks a little.

 

“Derek Hale?” Scott scoffs. “He was at our graduation? Wouldn’t surprise me. The guy just won’t go away.”

 

“It wasn’t _our_ graduation, Scott, just mine. Everyone else is dead. And I’m freaking time travelling. I admit I may have dreamed most of it. But I remember stuff. The kanima. The alpha pack. Being possessed. Allison dying. Derek becoming a wolf. And Lydia dying. She got killed by a werewolf in the park. That much I know. After that it might have been a nightmare. This isn’t our sophomore year. Not even junior anymore.”

 

“Allison died?” Scott sounds desolate.

 

Stiles curses himself for telling him that. Because that’s all he’s going to be focusing on now. “Scott. Listen to me. I’m _time travelling_. None of it has happened yet, obviously. It’s just that I can’t work out how or why. I need to speak to Derek.”

 

“Derek? Hale?”

 

“Long story. He’s a good guy. Always try and remember that.” But both of them are on their own little trains of thought now. Scott’s is undoubtedly going full steam ahead towards Allison, whereas Stiles is trying to work out at what point his time travel started. At Lydia’s funeral in the future? Or at some other point after that? Or maybe before? Maybe the _Year of Hell_ really was just a dream. He can’t remember the last thing he did before he woke up this morning. There was a voice. He has a feeling that he should remember that, but he can’t focus right now.

 

Scott looks at Stiles in confusion. “Are you sure this isn’t just because... you know... Lydia is... I mean, are you sure your mind isn’t playing tricks on you? Because you don’t want it to be true?”

 

“I’m not crazy,” Stiles says urgently because he knows his dad will come back for him if he doesn’t make his way back inside soon. “I’m time travelling or having visions or something. And Jackson is the kanima. We have to tell Derek.”

 

Scott’s face is a manifestation of _what the fuck are you on, dude_ and Stiles realizes belatedly that he’s doing this all wrong. For starters, Scott hasn’t lived through any of the things Stiles has experienced so he can’t comprehend Stiles’s sudden trust and confidence in the very person he’s vilified for weeks now and it therefore follows that Derek will be the same jerk he’s been so far. Secondly he isn’t entirely sure _when_ he is right now, so maybe Jackson isn’t the kanima yet or not any longer. But what's even more important is that maybe he shouldn’t be disturbing the timeline by talking about it. Then again, whether he’s lived through it or merely dreamed it, the future he’s seen is so fucking awful, he'll gladly change the whole world to avoid it.

 

 

 

 

His father is quiet on the drive home. Stiles is leaning back in the passenger seat, watching him drive with his usual casual skill. He’s never felt as safe driving with anyone as he has with his dad. When he thinks about it, there were so many things that his father just _did_. He must have driven thousands of miles, making sure Stiles got to places before he had a car. He came to lacrosse matches as much as his work permitted even when Stiles was just warming the bench. He allowed Scott to be a semi-permanent fixture in his home. He let Stiles spend endless time with the McCalls. He put up with all of Stiles’s weirdness and the many occasions he got into trouble. And in the end, despite some teenage uncertainties, Stiles was in no doubt how much he was loved.

 

His stomach cramps up and his throat tightens at the thought that he might lose this. That he _has_ lost this already. That this is just a dream. Or that the other reality was a dream of the future, a vision that he won’t be able to prevent. He has no idea what’s going on or what’s real any longer. But he _remembers_ losing his father; remembers Deputy Turner coming to the school to give him the news; remembers that Scott was allowed to be there because somebody had realized that he had no one now; remembers Scott hugging him and Derek turning up without being told because somehow he just knew. It was so gut-wrenching and devastating that he feels his eyes fill with tears.

 

His dad looks at him for a few moments and gives him a sad, understanding smile. After all, they’re returning from a funeral. On arriving home, Stiles drags his feet to the front door, waiting for his dad to come and unlock it. When he does, Stiles hugs him fiercely.

 

His father sighs quietly and hugs him back. “You’ll get through this,” he says, his voice a little rough, patting his back with one hand. “I’m here.”

 

Stiles doesn’t know how to let go. He hasn’t had this for so long. His dad is warm and solid, his voice is just like it always was around him, a little awkward but full of affection, and the smell is just like home. That’s always the first thing to go. He had his first panic attack when he realized that despite his dad’s best efforts to keep everything the same, including buying the same detergent and air freshener as his mom did, one day his house just didn’t smell like her any longer. It was the same after he lost his father. How could he forget something so unique? “I love you, Dad.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

It’s a long while past the point where his behavior makes his father uncomfortable, especially out here on the front step, but Stiles doesn’t care. Finally he lets go and wipes a stray tear from his face with his palm. His dad nods, squeezes his shoulder and lets them into the house. They watch TV and if Stiles is sitting a little too close for comfort next to his dad, not a word is said between them about that. Stiles wishes that Scott would turn up as well because he misses him – _has_ missed him or… whatever – but he knows that his friend will be consoling Allison as much as her parents will allow.

 

Stiles has no idea what’s on TV. His mind swirls around in circles, jumping from this reality to the one of ‘his dream’. What _is_ going on? Is he time travelling? No, that can’t be right because this is not his past. Lydia never died when Peter bit her. She had some kind of immunity and turned into a banshee instead. Is this the reality then and his dream was just a nightmare scenario? That can’t be right either because he remembers every detail of what happened up to the moment Peter bit Lydia on the lacrosse field and every moment after that with equal clarity and none of his memories involve her being killed. At least not at that time and not by Peter. And why is he so desperate to see Derek? If it was all a dream, shouldn’t he have lost all these feelings he has for him and gone back to mistrust and dislike?

 

It’s only later, when he’s in his bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling, that another possibility occurs to him. What if Lydia’s death on the lacrosse field triggered something? _In him_. Something that he got from his mother? Part of him wants to power up his laptop and research the effect of traumatic events on the onset of fronto-temporal dementia. But the other, larger part has him lying in bed, shaking with fear, crying silent, horrified tears until he falls asleep from sheer emotional exhaustion when the new day's already dawning.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the encouraging feedback. Apologies for not answering any comments but RL got in the way a bit.

 

**_ Day 2 _ **

 

The alarm wakes Stiles from a dream full of strange images, with a voice faintly and ominously saying something he can’t make out. He struggles out of it like a drowning man trying desperately to reach the surface and breaks into consciousness in much the same way, with a deep gasp and a feeling of profound relief. After he’s killed the alarm, he just lies back down and breathes a little unevenly for long minutes until he calms down. The alarm’s still set for school so it’s very early and he’s not going in today. His dad all but ordered him to take a couple of days off last night.

 

First of all he needs to take stock. He remembers yesterday’s funeral and a quiet evening at home but nothing that led up to it. Instead there are still the memories from his dream the night before. Losing everyone. _The Year of Hell –_ a Star Trek reference. That definitely sounds like something he’d come up with. And it’s all as vivid as it was before he went to sleep. If it was all a dream, shouldn’t the memory have faded by now?

 

The place is quiet and feels like he’s alone. He always knows when his father’s not in the house. It’s like there’s some subtle change in the atmosphere. Didn’t his father say he’d be taking a couple of days off as well? Maybe he’s just popped out to the store. Stiles drags himself out of bed and under the shower. The buzzcut looks alien to him for some reason and he stares at it in the mirror for a while. He should really grow it out.

 

There’s a message on the kitchen table, telling him that his dad’s doing a double shift. He sinks down heavily onto one of the wooden chairs and stares at the note. Doing his best not to be disappointed, he still can’t help feeling a little let down. His dad made such a big deal out of supporting him, telling him again that he’s here for Stiles just before they went to bed yesterday. And now he did not only go to work but is doing a double and won’t be home until midnight? Stiles should be used to it by now. Their plans have always been dependent on whatever else is going on in town. Something drastic must have happened. Maybe he should investigate what it was in case it has any bearing on what’s going on with him. Or he could just take this as an opportunity to try and find out what’s happening without his father’s interference. He still wants to see Derek and how would he ever explain _that_ to anyone?

 

After preparing his cereal and a large glass of milk, he sprints upstairs to get his laptop, which powers up while he shovels food into his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he opens his folder on fronto-temporal dementia, labeled _‘All ye who enter here’_. He’s read all the information hundreds of times before but scans it nevertheless. Then, just to be thorough, he starts a new online search for traumatic triggers. He knows he won’t find anything, except for a link between FTD and PTSD. There’s no sudden onset of FTD though, as far as he can tell. It’s not as if he doesn’t know everything there’s to know about the disease and has done for years. But then again, if he’s got it, how can he be certain?

 

His phone buzzes after an hour and he picks it up absentmindedly.

 

It’s a text from Scott: _where r u? ur missing 1 st period._

 

He frowns. He’d have thought Scott would be taking a day or two off as well. And even if he didn’t, he should know that Stiles is.

 

 _Y R U IN SCHOOL?_ He types back with one hand while still looking through medical websites.

 

There’s a longish pause and Stiles hopes Scott didn’t get his phone confiscated. Subtlety isn’t really Scott’s strong suit. Eventually he answers with a message that just contains a bunch of question marks as if he’s confused by the question.

 

Stiles rubs his hand over his hair a few times and remembers why he chose this haircut. It stops him from looking like an idiot because he can never stop carding his hands through it and making it stand out in all directions when it’s any longer than this.

 

There’s another buzz from his phone: _r u sick?_

 

Stiles glares at the words. Sick? What kind of question is that? _They buried Lydia yesterday!_  She may not have been the love of his life any longer but he has a right to be more than a little off color. Come to think of it: if this is his sophomore year, why wouldn’t she be the love of his life? If Scott's right and he’s just had a very vivid dream the other night and his brain's simply decided to forget seeing Lydia getting killed and re-write history, then shouldn’t he be devastated? He’s sad as if he’s been sad about her death for a long time. _Because_ he’s been sad about her death for a long time. He puts his palms to his temples and squeezes as if he can stop his jumble of thoughts by compressing his skull.

 

His phone makes another noise: _is your dad ok???_

 

“My dad? What the…?” Stiles mutters before there are more texts in rapid succession, all from Scott.

 

_sorry I didnt help him. hes ok  rite?_

 

_Allison would of gotten hurt if I didnt help her._

 

_sorry I didnt answer my phone yday. Allison + I were playing hooky. Am grounded til im 30._

 

Scott and Allison were playing hooky? When? Yesterday? That can’t be right. There was no school to be playing hooky _from_. He ignores a couple more buzzes from his phone to stare at the kitchen wall where the memo board hangs. It says ‘ _P/T meeting 18.15’_ in his dad’s spindly handwriting _._ His hand holding the phone shakes so much that he can’t read the date and he drops it on the table, giving it a flick with his index finger to push it into a position where it’s easy to read. It moves a little too far so he has to tilt his head at an awkward angle but there’s the confirmation alright. It’s the day after the last parent-teacher conference. While he was asleep, he’s traveled several weeks into the past to before the Winter Formal, before Peter bit Lydia, before they even knew Peter was the alpha.

 

“Oh fuck!”

 

The _‘Papa Don’t Preach’_  ringtonemakes him jump and mutter a “Double fuck!” before he picks it up, twisting his face into a fake smile. “Heeey, Dad. What’s up?” He cringes inwardly. Clearly he’s gotten out of the habit of bullshitting his father. Or maybe he just never realized how truly terrible at it he was the whole time.

 

 _"That’s_ my _line. Why aren’t you in school?”_ The sigh and the ‘this time’ are heavily implied, which Stiles finds unfair because he hasn’t skipped school _that_ much, hardly ever.

 

He clears his throat elaborately. “I don’t feel so good, Dad. I was sick when I got up and I feel like I might hurl again. I just went back to bed.”

 

There’s a pause and in his mind’s eye he can see his dad pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to decide whether he’s being lied to or not. Then there’s a sigh. _“You should have called me so that the school didn’t have to call me about your absence. We’ve talked about this. I’ll call them back and let them know. You stay in bed. Do you need anything? I could come home on my break.”_

 

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut because everything about what his dad just said hurts. Was he really such a brat that this was normal for his dad? The doubt? The decision to believe him against his better judgment? The concern despite it all?

 

“I think I just need to sleep it off. Must be something I ate yesterday. You don’t need to come home. I’ll text you if I need something.”

 

_“Okay. If you’re sure.”_

 

“I am.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Thanks, Dad. Love you.”

 

His father clears his throat. _“Me too. Feel better.”_

 

“I’ll try. Bye, Dad.” He sits at the kitchen table with the phone in his hand, staring into space. Scott has stopped texting after several messages with apologies and demands for him to reply. Stiles is glad about that because Scott’s not the person he needs right now. Scott wouldn’t get it. Nor would he be any help. He’s really not sure who would be of help because he can’t work out what’s actually going on. If he discards the idea that he’s simply crazy or sick, then he’s obviously travelling through time. Which one is more likely: a sudden onset of severe dementia or time travel? Who’s ever heard of a time traveler who doesn’t know whether he’s time travelling? They’re always being all mysterious and telling people they can’t tell them anything about the future because of the butterfly effect and all that crap so they can fix just one particular event in time. The problem is he can’t remember any of that. Not how he got here. Or what he’s supposed to do. So all he can do is go by instinct and his instinct is the same as Scott’s has always been: save them all.

 

In his future or past or whatever… in _the_ future then… he knows a few people who could pull this off. Lydia becomes quite powerful in many ways and would or could acquire the knowledge it takes. But she’s dead in the future and hasn’t even been bitten in this present. In fact she’s still at the point where she only knows – and for the most part ignores – him as the weird friend of her best friend’s awkward boyfriend. So, much as he’d love to interact with her again after all this time, it wouldn’t work.

 

The other person is Derek. He’s advanced into a fount of knowledge over the years, some of it from memories he’s dragging up from his childhood, the rest because he’s trusted by those who have information by virtue of being a werewolf and a Hale to boot. But Derek’s dead, too, in the future and in the present he’s even less enamored with Stiles than Queen Lydia. Stiles takes a few deep breaths at the mere thought. _Fuck_.

 

He grabs his phone and his keys and makes his way out to his Jeep. The veterinary surgery is devoid of any patients and Stiles can’t understand why he never wondered what Deaton actually lives on long before it became apparent that he’s much more than just a vet. He certainly couldn’t sustain himself on the work he’s doing, especially not with paying Scott as well. He never needed an assistant to begin with and only employed Scott to be able to take off whenever he felt like it.

 

Deaton is in the back, mixing up some poultice that could conceivably be for an injured animal but it’s equally possible that he’s brewing magic ingredients for a spell. He gives Stiles a long look, annoyed at first about the interruption, then more curious. He puts his utensils down and wipes his hands on a cloth before he comes closer. “What have you done?”

 

Stiles takes a relieved breath. The fact that Deaton knows something’s wrong just by looking at him helps cement the idea that he’s not simply hallucinating. “I have no idea. First I was in my bed and life was shit. Then it was Lydia’s funeral. Now it’s weeks earlier. I seem to be jumping in time. I don’t know how or why or what I’m supposed to do. Is time travel a thing?”

 

“Stop!” Deaton holds up one hand for emphasis. “Why are you asking _me_? I’m a vet.”

 

Oh. So maybe Deaton just assumed that Stiles had done something and not magically sensed that there’s something different about him. How disappointing. Or he’s feigning ignorance. That would be par for the course. “Very funny. You’re the Hale pack emissary and may I just say: good job looking out for them. You have more information up each of your sleeves than is contained in the library of congress. Stop bullshitting around and help me.”

 

“I can’t. You’re the one with the brains so surely you must know that. You’re not supposed to tell anyone about the future. There’s no way to gauge the ramifications. So even if I did believe you rather than thinking you’re just trying your luck, you shouldn’t speak to me.”

 

“Trying my luck? What are you talking about?”

 

“You’re smart – despite appearances. I wouldn’t put it past you to throw some mud just to see if anything sticks. Like you say, _I know your secret_ and hope people incriminate themselves. How’s that going for you?”

 

Stiles frowns exaggeratedly, first at the back-handed compliment then at the whole idea. “But I _do_ know your secret. I just told you. Emissary? Bringing balance? Any of that ring a bell?”

 

Deaton blinks a few times, clearly disconcerted. “I’m not even gonna ask. I’m just a vet.”

 

Stiles sighs. “Yeah, at least _you’re_ just like I remember you.”

 

“You make no sense.” Deaton moves back to his work and picks up the spatula to stir the mixture.

 

Rubbing the back of his head, Stiles resigns himself that this is a dead end. Hasn’t it always been? Deaton was never particularly helpful. He turns and goes back out to his jeep knowing full well that he’s being watched from the surgery. Why is the guy always so reticent? Aren’t emissaries supposed to help? Naturally, Deaton calls it _keeping the balance_ but the fact remains that he let Scott blunder about without any guidance, endangering his life more than once when he could have made everything a lot easier. Not to mention that he treated Derek like shit when it was his duty to aid the son of his former alpha. He’s a worse mentor than Dumbledore.

 

His next drive never before seemed so long. Last time he was here, the old house was demolished but when the trees retreat he has a view of the burnt-out ruin in all its depressing glory. For a minute or two he stays in his jeep just trying to clear his head. Derek might not even be here. He might be out hunting the alpha or stalking Scott. And if he _is_ here? What is Stiles going to say to him?

 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when his door is pulled open without warning and Derek glares at him. Maybe he even squeaks a little. “Don’t do that, you big…!” He trails off, overwhelmed by seeing Derek again. _God, how young he looks!_ When Stiles met him, Derek always seemed so much older. Now he realizes how young he really was and how alone and out of his depth he must have felt.

 

“What do you want, Stiles?” It sounds harsh and unwelcoming.

 

Stiles slithers out of the car but Derek doesn’t move back, still holding the jeep door with one hand and the other placed on the car roof, creating a very enclosed space for Stiles to stand. He was always trying to intimidate people by occupying their personal space. Little does he know that there’s no longer any personal space for Stiles where Derek’s concerned. Stiles inhales deeply, the mixture of leather and woods and it’s so familiar that he instinctively leans towards it.

 

Derek growls and steps back, letting go of the door and putting some distance between them. “What’s wrong with you?”

 

“Oh, you mean, why am I no longer pissing my pants every time you do that threatening werewolf thingy?” Stiles shrugs. “That’s because you’re just a big teddy bear really, aren’t you?”

 

“If you push your luck any more, I’ll rip out your throat…”

 

“…with your teeth. Yeah, I know. So here’s the thing: I’m time traveling. I’ve come here from the future – which is pretty bleak FYI – and I keep jumping backward in time. I wake up and it’s a different day. I mean, I realize that every day is a different day for everyone. What I’m saying is… yesterday it was after the Winter Formal and it was Lydia’s funeral and today it’s, well, today. Autumn. Several weeks before yesterday. You get it?”

 

There’s no reaction while Derek stares at him until his expression finally shows nothing but disdain. “You really are crazy.” He leaves Stiles there and walks towards the house.

 

“I can tell you who the alpha is,” Stiles calls after him.

 

Unsurprisingly that makes Derek stop in his tracks. He turns slowly and looks at Stiles with steely eyes. “You know who the alpha is? How?”

 

“Well, I kinda just told you how, but does it really matter how, as long as I’m right?”

 

“You don’t know who the alpha is.” There’s conviction in Derek's voice but he also steps closer, weakening his own statement with his curiosity. “What is it you really want?”

 

“Well, I want to know why I’m jumping through time and what I’m supposed to do to fix my life and I don’t want everyone to die. I also want to be rich but that’s beside the point. I would settle for one more afternoon cuddling with my honey on the couch…” Stiles trails off because he just realized that he’s talking about the very person in front of him and it fucking hurts.

 

Derek stops three yards away from him and scowls. “Will you stop babbling and either say what you have to say or leave me alone?”

 

Stiles tries not to gaze into his eyes or look at his lips too long because that wouldn’t be appropriate. “If I tell you who the alpha is, will you entertain the idea that I might be telling the truth and help me?”

 

“I don’t see how knowing who the alpha is – which I don’t believe until I have proof by the way – proves in any way that you’re… _time-traveling_.” The last word is said with a sneer. “There’s no such thing.”

 

“How would you even know? Do you know what a kanima is? Or a darach? And you’ll come across those as well. _You know nothing, Derek Hale_. Not even a reference to your favorite TV show, which... case in point.”

 

“I don’t even have a TV.”

 

“Yet.” Stiles makes a ‘duh’ face.

 

Derek glares at him again.

 

“You’re gonna love _Game of Thrones_ , man.”

 

Derek's eyes widen a little. Then he bridges the distance between them in seconds and pushes Stiles against the Jeep with one hand splayed across his chest, close enough to his throat to be a wordless threat. “How do you know that I’ve read that? Who have you been talking to?”

 

“You mainly. I know a lot about you. We’re… really good friends in the future.”

 

“You’re lying. That was a lie. I could hear it.”

 

Stiles silently curses the werewolf lie detector hearing and leans back as far as possible as Derek's hand edges closer to his windpipe. “Okay, okay. So that wasn’t quite true. Would you believe that we’re more than that?”

 

“More than friends? Like what? Pack? No way would I ever have you in my pack. You really bring nothing of value. All you can do is google.”

 

It’s too much. Stiles can’t _do_ this. “Get off me, you stupid lump! I’m trying to help you! I forgot what a mistrusting and moody and aggressive shithead you were. Now get the fuck off me!” He gives a hard push and to his surprise Derek steps back a few paces, presumably mostly from surprise because Stiles knows he’s nowhere near strong enough to move him by force.

 

“So what are we in your dream future?” Derek sneers, maybe to cover the fact that he just let Stiles manhandle him.

 

“Never mind. I can take you to the alpha but I can tell you now that you’re no match for him physically. And whatever he says, don’t trust him. He’s not your friend. Or your pack. Always remember that he killed your sister.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“I told you. What else do I have to do to make you believe me? Get in the car. I’ll take you to him because you wouldn’t believe me if I just told you.”

 

Neither one of them speaks until they’ve nearly reached their destination but Stiles counts it as a win that Derek even got into the car with him – without being on the verge of dying that is.

 

“Where are we going?” Derek finally grits out with barely disguised anger.

 

“Calm down, buddy,” Stiles says then sharply looks at Derek to check his reaction, which isn’t good. Stiles is probably about five minutes away from having his head smashed into the steering wheel again. “Sorry. Please, trust me just five more minutes.”

 

“Don’t mistake this for trust.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, so let me rephrase that: bear with me for just five more minutes?” He grins winningly with too much teeth making Derek roll his eyes exaggeratedly.

 

“I _will_ hurt you if you’re screwing with me.”

 

Stiles tries his hardest to keep his mouth from voicing the wholly inappropriate response that pops into his head as he parks the jeep outside the convalescent home. Derek looks at the building for a few moments and then back at Stiles with raised eyebrows, silently reiterating his warning.

 

It’s the afternoon so there’s no need to sneak in. They can just slip inside as ordinary visitors. Derek is watchful now, holding back a little. He may suspect where Stiles is taking him but he can’t be sure. Eventually when Stiles halts outside Peter’s room, Derek gives him a long look and walks past him inside. There he gives Peter, who’s in his wheelchair facing away from them towards the window, a soft shoulder squeeze and turns to meet Stiles’s eyes, both arms spread wide.

 

“This? Are you serious? This is your grand reveal? How did you even find out about him?”

 

With hindsight Stiles can see through Derek's façade of mocking anger. Jeez, how did he never notice how scared Derek was – like, _all the time_? It was probably his own fear that clouded his perception, fear for Scott, fear for himself, for his dad, fear of the hunters, the alpha, and yes, fear of Derek, too.

 

“Derek,” he says gently, too gently, because Derek scoffs immediately. “Peter’s the alpha. I know you think he’s paralyzed and catatonic but he isn’t. He’s the alpha. And can you, please, _please_ , not turn your back on him like that because that’s freaking me the fuck out?”

 

“Oh, you think I should turn my back on you instead of my family? Peter’s pack and you and Scott don’t get what that means. I don’t know what’s worse, this prank you’re playing or Scott telling me that the Argents must have had a good reason to burn my family.”

 

Stunned, Stiles forgets all dangers and objectives of the current situation. “He said _what_ now?”

 

For a few seconds Derek loses his composure and looks as wrecked as he feels. Stiles can’t believe that Scott of all people would have said something so cruel, not his best friend Scott, who’s kindness personified. But then he remembers how nothing but Allison counted from the moment he met her. If he hadn’t needed Stiles’s help to manage and hide the changes in him, Stiles might have lost him altogether. Scott and Allison might be married with a bunch of kids today but Stiles would only be on the margin of their lives, if at all. And damn if that isn’t still better than the reality and so very painful at the same time. The bite may have been a curse to Scott but to Stiles it was a blessing in disguise.

 

“He said that the Argents must have had a reason to kill my family. Even after I told him that there were humans and children in the house.” Derek is back to anger. Righteously so, Stiles feels.

 

“Scott has Allison-shaped blinkers on right now.”

 

“Yeah,” Derek says with a self-deprecating huff. “Argent women. Tell me about it.”

 

Stiles wants to say something comforting, like that it wasn’t Derek's fault but now isn’t the time nor would Derek be open to it. “I understand,” he says to Derek's obvious disbelief. “And I understand that you don’t trust me, but could you maybe at least stand over there by the wall? Because your uncle is… oh, shit!”

 

Behind Derek's back, Peter is slowly rising from the wheelchair and looking at Stiles askance. “How did you work it out?”

 

At the sound of his uncle’s voice, Derek moves at lightning speed, whirling around to face him and momentarily forgetting – or not caring – that Stiles is now behind him. The surprise seems to make him speechless for a moment.

 

“Hello, nephew.”

 

Derek finally finds his voice. “Stiles, get out of here!”

 

Stiles really wants to, just like last time, but he doesn’t want this to end like last time either. “Don’t underestimate him! He’s been healing slowly over the years and he lured Laura here to kill her and take her power to speed up the process. He’s not pack anymore. He’s the enemy.”

 

“Leave!”

 

“Now, now, Derek,” Peter says mockingly in a soft tone. “Don’t send the child away. He’s such a tasty little morsel. Very smart obviously and very useful. If we turn him, we’ll get the McCall kid into the bargain. We can be a pack again.”

 

“You killed your own niece,” Stiles spits out in disgust.

 

Derek seems to have similar feelings, growing fangs and claws in the middle of jumping at Peter. Stiles only saw half of this fight before he fled last time, but it didn’t look good for Derek then nor does it now. The mostly open door crashes into the wall strewing shattered glass everywhere when Peter throws Derek into it. Derek ends up on the floor but gets up soon enough, prowling towards Peter and snapping, “Get the fuck out of here, Stiles.”

 

“I would, I really, really would, but you two should remember that it’s broad daylight and there’s people here, lots of people and there’s a family of hunters living in town just waiting for you to fuck up.” He’s retreated out of the room into the corridor, seeing with dismay a nurse and an orderly approaching from either end, and is soon followed by Derek crashing into the wall next to him. Derek's sagging a little, but already in the process of pulling himself together again despite a large bloody gash across his t-shirt.

 

“Derek,” Stiles hisses urgently trying to shield him from view. “People. _Non-werewolf_ people. Coming towards you. Get up! We’ve gotta go.”

 

Already on his feet, Derek's looking first at Stiles then down the corridor, his claws and fangs retreating and his eyebrows furrowed. Stiles pulls the sides of Derek's leather jacket together to hide the injury while Derek checks on what Peter is doing behind Stiles’s back. Then he pushes Stiles towards the exit by his upper arm and holding his jacket shut with the other hand as he walks quickly next to him.

 

“My uncle isn’t feeling well,” he says to the nurse who stops as they pass her, obviously wanting to ask them what’s going on but neither of them even slows down, with Derek practically dragging Stiles from the building now.

 

“Where are we going?” Derek asks again when they’ve been driving for a few minutes. He’s been examining his wound, prodding the edges with suppressed little grunts.

 

“My house.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Safest place for you right now. Your uncle won’t go there, nor the Argents, not with my dad being the sheriff and all. So you can lie low for a bit.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Derek makes no attempt to disguise his distrust.

 

Stiles shrugs. What is he supposed to say to that? I’m time travelling and in the future I’m madly in love with you? I’ve inherited this disease from my mother and you’re just a figment of my imagination, so who cares? I don’t have a clue what the fuck’s going on right now and you’re the only one I trust besides my dad, who unfortunately is back to being blissfully ignorant of werewolves and other things that go bump in the night?

 

“Peter’s dangerous,” he says instead. “He’s not good people.”

 

“He never was,” Derek says more to himself. “But he’s the only family I have left.”

 

“That’s because he killed the only other person you had left. That doesn’t exactly qualify him for a spot on your Christmas card list.”

 

“How do you know he killed Laura?”

 

“You told me, buddy. You said the alpha killed your sister. Peter’s the alpha. Ergo he killed Laura. QED. If he wasn’t your uncle, you’d be plotting his grisly demise right now.” Stiles parks the car in his driveway and looks at Derek, who’s looking down at his hand on his wound. And he finally realizes why Derek would ally himself with Peter despite everything. For all his bluff posturing Derek is just a scared and lonely kid, far too young to be in this situation and without anyone who could be a potential ally instead – because Scott has aligned himself with the Argents, Stiles lives to make his life a misery and the Hale emissary has shown an inexplicable hatred towards him, even if Derek doesn’t know who Deaton really is yet. His defeat shows in the single nod he gives before he gets out of the car, resigning himself to follow the lead of a sixteen-year-old teenager, a previously _very hostile_ teenager, because it’s simply the best of his very limited options.

 

It’s not until after he’s fed Derek pizza and salad that Stiles notices Derek's discomfort. He should have remembered that alpha injuries don’t heal like ordinary wounds. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” he says.

 

“Great,” Derek grouses. “And where’s the bathroom?”

 

Ah yes, Derek's never been here before. “I’ll show you.” Stiles grabs two sodas from the fridge and walks up ahead, followed by a reluctant Derek. After pointing him in the right direction, Stiles rummages through his chest of drawers to find a t-shirt on the large side to replace Derek's torn one. He keeps one ear out for his dad because the last thing he needs at this point is an altercation between his father and a half-dressed guy in their bathroom. When he hears the shower come on, he tries not to think about Derek being naked in there. He’s just glad that Derek trusts him enough to allow himself to be vulnerable while Stiles stands guard.

 

After a while Derek comes into his bedroom, hesitantly, looking around and assessing the new space, with his shirt still off but not a hair out of place. Stiles suppresses a chortle, both at the semi-naked hotness and the ridiculousness of placing importance on his hair when his chest is still a jagged mess, although now thankfully taped over with a bandage. Stiles throws his old t-shirt at him and looks determinedly out the window until Derek is dressed because he isn’t a hormonal teenager anymore, thank you very much.

 

Before he can turn around, Derek pushes his back against the wall next to the window. Stiles looks into his eyes and has to smile. He tries to suppress it but he’s no longer afraid of Derek and it’s been a long time since they were this close. It feels right. Without volition his eyes move to Derek's lips.

 

For a moment Derek just presses his forearm against his upper chest to keep him in place. “How did you know that Peter’s the alpha?” he growls. “And don’t tell me you googled it. It doesn’t work that way.”

 

“Derek,” Stiles says softly and with way too much feeling. There's a million things he wants to do right now, all to do with close physical contact but this Derek doesn’t know what he knows, doesn’t feel what he feels. And what does Stiles really _know_? Only that there’s something weird going on with him, be it time travel or a curse or… hallucinations. But he doesn’t _know_ know. It’s conceivable that he’s still in the middle of some extended, very strange dream. What’s happening is certainly weird enough for it.

 

Derek frowns and pushes away from him. He even steps back a few paces as if he’s afraid or… disgusted. “What’s with you today?”

 

Stiles sighs, unsure how much point there is to explaining things all over again but willing to try anyway, when Derek tilts his head and raises his hand slightly to stop him. “Your dad’s coming.”

 

“What?” That can’t be right. His father said he’d be doing a double, so he won’t be home for hours. But sure enough, a few moments later he can hear the cruiser turn into the driveway. Luckily they both came in Stiles's car. His dad would recognize the Camaro in a heartbeat. It’s the only one in town. “Get in the closet.”

 

Derek's eyebrows practically disappear under his hairline. “Excuse me?”

 

“The closet.” Stiles walks over and opens the door as if locating it is the problem here. “My dad thinks I’m sick. Which means that he’ll come in here to check on me. Which means that he’ll see you and probably shoot you if he finds you here. I think you’ve suffered enough injury for one day.”

 

“I’ll heal.”

 

“Argh! Will you just do it? You can come back out after he’s gone. He’s not likely to come in here more than once. Come on.”

 

He tries to physically push Derek without making the slightest bit of headway. It’s only when the front door opens, and the heavy footfall of the sheriff’s boots can be heard, that Derek steps into the small space and pulls the door shut, glaring at Stiles until the very last second. Then he makes a disgusted noise. “Teenager stench. That’s all I need.”

 

“You love how I smell,” Stiles can’t help saying. Then he pulls back his covers and gets into bed just in the nick of time.

 

“Did you say something?” his dad says in lieu of a greeting when he enters the room. “I came home to see how you are. Are you feeling better?”

 

“Must have muttered in my sleep,” Stiles answers. “You didn’t have to come home, Dad. I’m just a little sick. I’m sure I’ll be alright tomorrow. I’ve been trying to do some homework.” He gestures to the books and the laptop that he’s placed in strategic positions around his bed. “But I keep dropping off. I’ll just have an early night. On the plus side though: I haven’t barfed since this morning.”

 

“I’ll make you some soup.” His father feels his forehead in a universal gesture of parental concern before leaving the room.

 

“Thanks, Dad.”

 

In the end Derek has to stay where he is for over an hour while the sheriff insists on sharing soup and toast with his son. Stiles is torn between glee and discomfort. In truth he has to force down the soup because he and Derek ate not so long ago but that works out well for him as he's supposedly not feeling well. Nevertheless he can’t shift the feeling that his dad's looking right through his pretext. Maybe he caught the lingering smell of pizza in the kitchen. He _is_ a cop after all.

 

Eventually his dad goes back to work and when Stiles unlocks the closet, Derek immediately tumbles out like a man gasping for air. Stiles has to suppress a smile when he even shakes himself as if he’s trying to dispel the smell of Stiles as a dog would try to get rid of water after being out in the rain.

 

Obviously he’s not doing a good enough job of hiding his amusement because Derek has him pinned against the wall again in seconds. “You think this is funny?”

 

“I think it’s funny that you keep getting up close and personal. Something you wanna tell me? Because I’m open to suggestions.”

 

Derek looks utterly confused, either because his threats aren’t working any longer or because Stiles can’t help flirting with him. He steps back and just stares at Stiles.

 

Stiles pulls out some blankets from the closet. “Take these. Make yourself comfortable on that side.” He points to the floor on the far side of the bed that can’t be seen from the door. “My dad won’t come in if he thinks I’m asleep, so you’ll be safe there.”

 

Derek throws the blankets down in the indicated spot but remains standing. With an exaggerated sigh Stiles goes to bed then looks at him until Derek makes himself a makeshift bed on the floor. For a while nobody says a word until Stiles turns off the light.

 

The darkness makes him bolder. “Can I just tell you something?”

 

Derek grunts a non-reply.

 

It’s not very encouraging but it’s not in Stiles’s nature to remain silent. Talking is his default coping mechanism. He tells Derek everything, about his ‘dream’, about Lydia’s funeral – the one yesterday and the one in the future – about everyone dying, about waking up this morning, about his worry that he might be sick, and that he hopes that time travel is the right answer. It takes a long time because he’s always been verbose. When he finishes, he realizes that Derek has been very still for a long time. Great, dude’s probably stopped listening after the first two or three sentences of insanity and fell asleep while Stiles was agonizing over his dilemma. How very Derek.

 

Stiles can’t see him from his bed and while he was talking, he didn’t want to look at him anyway. He stares at the ceiling because he’s not sleepy at all. He’s always wondered what it was like for his mom, losing her mind one piece at a time and being very much aware of it. Maybe this is how he finds out.

 

“So you’re going further back each time?” Derek's gravelly voice makes him jump.

 

He takes a few moments to catch his breath. “So far.”

 

And suddenly they’re talking. Stiles moves his head to the edge of the mattress so he can keep eye contact with Derek as much as possible in the deepening darkness. Derek has a lot of questions. They start spinning theories, trying to think of a reason for what’s happening. Derek brings up enchantments and curses, as well as demon possessions while insisting that none of that would cause time travel. It’s not exactly reassuring and yet it is. There’s relief in talking to someone, to Derek.

 

When his dad gets home, they’re quiet until he goes to bed after he's unwound for couple of hours by watching TV. By that time Derek has dropped off. Stiles watches him sleep, wondering when was the last time he slept with a proper roof over his head and marvels at the fact that Derek feels safe enough to do that here with him even at this stage in their relationship, wishes they could share the bed and doesn’t fall asleep until it gets light.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**_ Day 5 _ **

 

Waking up is different this time, more immediate, like someone flipped a switch. The scream on his lips dies in a loud groan. He’s sweaty and clammy and that voice that he’s heard before in his dreams was drowned out completely by It’s voice over the last two days. And It had a lot to say, none of it pleasant, unsurprisingly since It is a thousand-year-old demon who enjoyed gleefully pointing out Stiles’s shortcomings to him, _all_ of them, _constantly_.

 

Stiles is rigid in his bed, exhausted after fifty hours of struggling to get control of his own body and his own mind. It was as useless this time around as it was the last time. The nogitsune seemed to take pleasure in the fact that Stiles was completely aware of what was going on and Stiles spent his time reciting useless bits and pieces from memory over and over again, all so that he wouldn’t give away the punch line, wouldn’t tip It off to how they defeated It in the end because that’s one outcome he can’t afford to mess up.

 

Of course, It knew that something was up, that It was sharing the mind of a different Stiles. But Stiles just wouldn’t engage as soon as he realized where – or rather when – he’d arrived this time. He performed several school plays in his head and if he couldn’t remember some of the lines, so much the better, he'd just start from the beginning. He delivered every poem, every song and every mathematical or chemical formula he could think of. Over and over and over again. He barely took notice of his friends, as they interacted with _that thing_ , unaware that they weren’t speaking to Stiles.

 

The problem was that the demon didn’t need any sleep and Stiles couldn’t afford to drop his concentration, so one day stretched into two, endless seconds, minutes, hours ticking by with increasing desperation because he knew this could go on forever. Eventually he managed to strike. It just took one second of gaining the upper hand, not enough to effect any real change or give any warnings to anyone, but sufficient to turn the wheel of his Jeep and crash it into a dumpster by the roadside. The impact knocked him out.

 

Tears of relief spring to his eyes at finding himself alone in his body. For a while he feared that he’d never escape, that he’d be perpetually reciting things until his friends managed to separate them and trap the demon. It could have been weeks longer because without sleep he won’t wake up in another time. And he couldn’t have kept up his strategy of basically sticking his fingers in his ears and going _la-la-la-la-la_ indefinitely while the nogitsune tried to probe his mind relentlessly. At some point he would have slipped up. The demon would see the future as Stiles has seen it and would be prepared. His friends may never be able to rescue him in that case. It’s a fate worse than death.

 

Something else occurs to him as he lies in his bed, shaking with fatigue, fear and horror: he’s not jumping backward as he thought. It all seems to be just random, it was pure coincidence that he jumped backward twice and he just assumed it was a general trajectory. He’s not so much time-traveling as Quantum-Leaping, only he doesn’t jump into other people, just himself. Also he can only affect changes as long as he’s awake, so he’d better make sure to never take a nap before he’s finished with whatever he’s doing on any given day. It seems like the jumps are arbitrary, too, like they’re uncontrolled and uncontrollable. So he’s most likely on his own on this little trip, with no help or guidance from anyone. Which means… that he can wake up possessed again at any point with no backup and next time the demon will be forewarned.

 

He stuffs his duvet in his mouth to suppress a whimper of despair. After the nogitsune was defeated, it took him a long time to come to terms with his loss of agency and control, especially since they’d been his biggest fears after seeing his mom go that way and the possibility of her condition being hereditary or at least predisposing him to it. Last time he had Derek to help him recover because Derek knew a little about the emotional aftermath of being used. It was the beginning of them becoming close.

 

 _Derek! Oh fuck!_ He fell asleep while Derek was in his room recovering from Peter clawing his chest. When they woke up the next morning, did the other Stiles, the stationary one, even remember what happened? Or did he wake up to see Derek asleep on his bedroom floor and had no clue what was going on? Did he call for his dad? Did Derek decide Stiles was just _too_ crazy and never spoke to him again?

 

What day is this? Maybe he can forewarn Derek in this time to not dismiss him entirely. Yeah, like that will go down well. The further back he goes, the less receptive Derek will be to what Stiles has to say. If he goes too far back, Derek won’t even know him or may not be in Beacon Hills yet. On the other hand… if he goes far enough back, would he be able to prevent the Hale fire? Surely that would solve all his problems in the future. One of the problems with that idea is that Stiles was about ten at the time which could complicate things. Although, even if he can’t convince Derek, he may still be able to put Talia on her guard concerning Kate.

 

He blindly pats his night table until his hand finds his phone and looks at the date. Nope, definitely not gone backward very far, just a few weeks. The date means nothing to him at all. If he's ever in a situation where he needs an alibi for a certain time, he'd be screwed. It never seems important to remember details like that and he's never kept a diary, so how the hell is he going to find out what he’s supposed to be doing today when he doesn’t know what he did yesterday? _This_ yesterday, in this time, not the yesterday where he was screaming inside his own body because there was a demon in there with him. _That_ he remembers only too well.

 

He takes a lengthy shower, which goes a long way to make him feel better. While he’s having breakfast, he texts Scott to see if he wants to meet up but doesn’t get an answer. Instead _Papa Don’t Preach_ comes on announcing a call from his father. Before he answers, Stiles quickly checks the time – eleven in the morning – and then rather guiltily what day it is – Saturday, so no need to panic that he might be missing school again. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

 

 _“Just checking in to see if_ you _are.”_

 

“Yep. Just got up. How’s your day going?” He smiles as his father recounts a prank two of his deputies played on each other. It’s so good to have this back, these everyday conversations, to be able to speak to his dad or just to hear his voice.

 

_“Will I see you tonight?”_

 

Stiles shrugs. “Don’t know yet. I might be out with Scott. But I’ll leave you some food in the fridge either way. And I’ll let you know if I’ll be home for dinner.”

 

_“Okay. I should be home around seven. Don’t forget to pack before you go out in case you come home late. If you do it in the morning, you’ll forget half your stuff.”_

 

“Pack?” Are they going on vacation? He doesn’t remember anything like that. They never went on vacation after his mom died.

 

_“For the meet? Tomorrow? How could you forget?”_

 

“Sorry. I’m still half asleep. Yeah, I’ll pack before I go out.”

 

_“You do that. Bye, son.”_

 

“Bye, Dad.” He disconnects the call, adding a _love you_ that his dad obviously can’t hear but still makes him feel better. It seems important to him nowadays to say it a lot.

 

When he’s placed the dishes in the dishwasher, he goes upstairs, throws some clothes in a bag and prepares his lacrosse gear, not so much for himself, as he fully expects to be gone by then, but more to help out his stationary self. Then he prepares some low-cholesterol fajitas for his father. It holds him up but he’s not about to risk his dad’s health because he’s jumping through time. He knows enough about karma, paradoxes and life’s general shittiness to fully expect that he’ll probably lose him through a heart attack if he stops paying attention to the details. And if he can’t get his dad back, he’s going to go crazy.

 

When he tries Scott again, he finally gets an answer and drives over to the McCall house. Scott’s hair is shorter than last time and he’s a little taken aback when Stiles hugs him. They see too much of each other to do that on a regular basis but he doesn’t seem to mind, just asks if Stiles is okay. Then he launches into a long rant about visiting Allison that morning – which explains why his phone was off – and meeting Deucalion in the elevator.

 

“You have to tell Derek.”

 

Scott nods resignedly. “I suppose.”

 

They take the Jeep to the loft, where Derek is surrounded by his new makeshift pack, Cora, Peter, Boyd and Isaac. Naturally, they already know that the Alpha Pack has made its home in the penthouse of the Argent’s building and even have blueprints. Stiles is inordinately proud of Derek because, starting with rescuing Cora and Boyd, this was the beginning of him coming into his own. If he’d retained his Alpha position, he’d have made a great leader because he was willing to step up. Scott becoming the True Alpha while Derek lost his status threw everything out of balance. However much he loves Scott, Stiles has always known this.

 

It’s fascinating to watch a conversation he only knows second-hand. There was a lot Scott left out when he told Stiles about it later, Peter’s inimitable remarks, for example, and Cora calling him a 'kid', one they don’t need. All Scott was focused on was their actual plan and how stupid it was. Well, if Scott hadn’t forced them all into a different situation, on the Alpha Pack’s terms, it might have worked. Finally he understands why Scott felt it was his fault when he thought Derek had died. Because it kind of was.

 

Stiles holds back. He would very much like to tell them where it’s all going to go so horribly wrong, but he’s not keen on announcing his wacko time leaping theory to a hostile audience. At this point in time the only person here sympathetic to him is Scott. He’s also not sure that he can do much anyway. He’s too far in the future. Assuming he’s here to save people, then he’ll sure as hell save everyone – and that includes Erica.

 

Derek keeps glancing over at him. Maybe his unusual silence is noticeable, if only to Derek, but no mention is made. Stiles listens to Scott’s complaint about killing people and disagrees for the first time. Perhaps if they’d all been a little more ruthless, like Derek, and a little less dithering, like Scott, they would all be alive still. He’s certainly not opposed to getting rid of Deucalion permanently.

 

To everyone’s surprise Derek walks them to the door when they leave. “Stay away from this fight,” he warns Stiles when he and Scott are already outside the loft. It sounds gruff and annoyed.

 

True to form Stiles doesn’t really think before he speaks. “Or what? You’ll spank me?” It just slips out from long familiarity. Conceivably he could have said something like this before they became a couple but certainly not in such a flirtatious tone. His face heats up with embarrassment, as Scott gives him a look of bewildered shock and everyone in the loft turns to stare at him. Damn werewolf hearing.

 

Derek arches his eyebrows as only he can before he says slowly, like you would to a particularly obtuse child, emphasizing every word: “No. but. you. may. die.” Then he slides the door shut.

 

Stiles decides to take Derek's advice and let the events unfurl as they did originally. Nobody died, so there’s that, and he couldn’t stop the fight if he tried. Both packs are too focused on the other’s destruction. Neither would he be able to talk Scott out of his own plan because at this point Scott had already pulled away from him – not from their friendship, but from his advice and support – and listened more to Deaton and to his own feeling of righteousness. It’s not as if Stiles blames Scott for being his own man, but it was a painful period in his life and quite frankly Scott’s plans mostly sucked. It’s a miracle that no one died sooner.

 

He drops Scott off at home, knowing that he’ll go and get a pep talk from Deaton and then rush headfirst into a situation he never had any hope of controlling – never mind ‘leading’. Stiles goes to see his father instead, hanging about his office doing some filing and fending off numerous questions about whether he’s alright or wants something and _“Are you sure you’re okay, son?”_. He supposes that by this stage hanging out at the station with the only purpose of spending time with his dad was not something he did anymore. It’s one of his many regrets.

 

His father is even more confused when instead of going home together, Stiles excuses himself. After a quick bite to eat from the drive-through, Stiles makes his way to the abandoned shopping mall. He doesn’t watch. It’s really not necessary or in any way appealing to see his friends in this particular fight, one that they’ll barely escape from with their lives, no less. He waits out of sight until Scott drives off on his bike with Isaac on the back. Cora and Boyd use the Camaro and the Argents their SUV. The Alpha Pack has several cars and motorbikes. He sees them carry Ennis away from the scene. They may not have won the fight but they were menacing enough to make his friends retreat and look for Derek later. By then, it will be too late, though not in the obvious way. He doesn't spot Derek at all.

 

After a while he realizes that Derek must have left by some other way and makes his way to the school parking lot as close to the tree line as he can. The preserve and the school lie in a direct line with Derek's home and sure enough Derek comes stumbling out of the trees two and a half hours later. Given his injuries and the bleeding he’s still suffering from, he’s made good time. Stiles quickly scrambles out of his Jeep, his heart clenching at the state Derek's in. “You stupid, brave idiot,” he mutters, diving under Derek's shoulder and guiding him to the passenger seat.

 

“Wha…you’re… doin… here?” Derek slurs, too exhausted to resist.

 

“Rescuing you from another mistake.” Stiles starts the car, watching in the rearview mirror as Ms Blake comes out of the school and walks to her car. “Yeah, you go home to play with your voodoo dolls, witch.”

 

“Wha..?”

 

“I said I’m taking you home.”

 

The loft is empty, which means the pack's still out searching for Derek. They might be a while because Derek would have covered his tracks well to stop the Alpha Pack from finding him and Stiles can’t remember if Scott ever said when they gave up looking for him. There may not be much time.

 

He gets a bowl of warm water and carefully washes Derek's wounds, wincing in sympathy every time Derek so much as twitches. His ministrations seem to have the desired effect because when he comes back from discarding the water, the deep red furrows on Derek's body are a little shallower. Derek is supine on his bed, staring at the ceiling and Stiles goes into the kitchenette to make coffee and something to eat.

 

When he’s just finishing up a stack of sandwiches, Derek wanders in, wearing a clean shirt. He stands in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching Stiles pour out coffee for both of them. “Is the pack alright?”

 

“They survived.”

 

Derek watches him a little longer, causing Stiles to stir his coffee excessively to distract himself. “What did you mean by you’re rescuing me from another mistake?”

 

“Ah, of course, you would remember _that_.”

 

Finally Derek moves to sit opposite Stiles at the breakfast bar. “Is this one of those incidents where you tell me something you can’t possibly know and then talk incoherently about time travel?”

 

Stiles’s head comes up sharply. “You remember that?”

 

Derek looks incredibly smug. “There! I knew you were just pretending not to remember it! What is this? Another one of your pranks?”

 

“It’s not a prank. I waited for you at the school because I knew you’d find your way there.”

 

Derek is unimpressed. “It’s on my way home.” He takes one of the sandwiches and bites into it.

 

“Yes, I know. But the pack’s still searching for you and I was waiting for you because if I wasn’t, you’d have run into Ms Blake. And let me tell you, she’s neither good news nor good people.”

 

“Ms Blake?” Derek says around half a mouthful of food. “The English teacher?”

 

“The very one. Only she’s more than a school teacher. Try ex-emissary to Kali’s pack. Try witch. Try darach.”

 

“What’s a darach?”

 

“Kind of a dark druid. A druid gone wrong. She’s doing the sacrifices to gain power. And another way she’s gonna try is use you.”

 

“Me?”

 

“She’s gonna hit you with some mojo and then you’ll be dating all of a sudden, and… it doesn’t end well, okay?”

 

Derek has stopped eating and is glaring daggers at him. “Is this supposed to be a joke?”

 

Stiles remembers a little too late that the scenario he’s describing sounds a lot like a repeat of Kate. “Derek. I would never joke about something like that. Do you detect any lie? That’s because I’m not lying. Remember when I told you Peter was the Alpha? That wasn’t a lie either, right? So believe me when I say, this is me, time traveling, or leaping as I like to call it. For me, you camping out on my bedroom floor happened two days ago, not two years. And please also believe me that Jennifer Blake is very dangerous. She’s gonna try and whammy you. You need to take precautions. Or stay away from her. That’s gonna be best, just stay away from her.”

 

Derek is quiet for a long time. “Let’s say I believe you… again. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

 

“Wish I knew! Do you know Quantum Leap?”

 

“The TV show?”

 

“Yeah. It’s like that, only I always end up in my own body just at different times. I wake up and it’s weeks earlier or years later. And sometimes things are not right. Like Lydia was dead the first time I woke up.”

 

“Yeah. I remember you telling me that. Well, she’s alive and kicking now. She’s skipped a year and left school.”

 

“So she didn’t get bitten by Peter?”

 

“No. He tried.”

 

“But…?”

 

Derek shrugs but remains silent, concentrating on his food.

 

“You saved her.” Stiles doesn’t need confirmation to know he’s right.

 

“Actually, by the time the Winter Formal came along Peter was already dead.” Derek pulls a face. “Unfortunately, it didn’t take.”

 

“Yeah, I bet Peter’s a survivor in any universe.” Stiles wonders what it’s like with Lydia gone. If she didn’t turn into a banshee, did they ever become friends? Was she still the one who resurrected Peter? If so, how? And if not, who did? Every question leads to new ones. It would be interesting to find out what happens when you change just one thing but he can’t spend his time with asking questions. He has to make do with the basics. “I take it, Erica’s still dead?”

 

Derek stills and Stiles promises himself he’ll be more careful in future because Derek looks wrecked. “Sorry.”

 

“Can you tell me what else is going to happen? Am I going to lose any more of my pack?”

 

Stiles sighs and fills Derek in on what will happen with Boyd, how he himself will become a beta by curing his sister and still lose her in the end. He begs him to save his dad, Melissa and Chris Argent from being taken by the darach. He tells him about the nogitsune, Allison and the _Year of Hell_. A lot of it he told Derek before when they were in his bedroom but someone has to stop the future from unfolding while Stiles is bouncing uselessly around time.

 

Eventually it’s getting late. The wish to stay, to keep on talking, or more, is overwhelming, but he shakes his head ruefully. “I have to go home.”

 

“And when I see you next time you won’t remember any of this, will you?” Derek asks with a wistful smile, when they’re already by the door.

 

Stiles wonders what would happen if he just kissed Derek right now. When they ended up together, Derek told him that he’d been talking himself out of his feelings for Stiles for quite a while. Maybe he wouldn’t mind a make-out session. “If I’ve been asleep in the meantime, I won’t remember. But tomorrow I have to go to a lacrosse meet and save my best friend from turning himself into a human torch or rather a werewolf torch.”

 

“So you were a superhero even before you started jumping through time.” Derek is all smiles.

 

This is just the way Stiles remembers him and it makes it twice as hard not to do something stupid. “I had my moments,” he grins. Then his curiosity gets the better of him. “How come you believe me?”

 

Derek shrugs. “Because you trusted me.”

 

Stiles makes a _please, elaborate_ face.

 

“When we met last time, I mean _this_ you, and you let me sleep in your room, you woke up the next morning and didn’t remember how I got there. And you didn’t say anything to your dad even though he was right there in the doorway, checking on you. When I told you what happened the day before, all you said was: _time travel, how awesome is that?_ ” Derek shrugs again. “When it counts, you’ve always come through for me.”

 

Stiles nods. “Yeah, same here.”

 

When he lies in bed that night waiting for sleep to come, he wonders if he should have told Derek that they’re together in the future. It’s surprisingly difficult to say to someone, _and by the way, we’re also madly in love and boning a lot,_ when that person has most likely never thought about him along those lines, yet. It’s not that he fears it won’t happen if he mentions it, but rather that it will. What he has with Derek – _will have_ with Derek – is so precious to him that he wants to be absolutely sure that Derek wasn’t manipulated in any way. Derek deserves to make his own choices.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**_ Day 8 _ **

 

Waking up is like trying to escape quicksand. It takes Stiles a few attempts just to open his eyes. Even before he started leaping through time, he had dreams like this, where he couldn’t control parts of his body, or any of it. Usually it happens when he naps too long during the day. His dreams are always more vivid then. But this is different. It's as if he's being pulled from one point to another by an invisible force, while other forces are also trying to get hold of him and he has no idea how the winner of this tug-of-war is determined. Maybe he can manipulate the whole process? If he could influence which point in time he leaps to, then all he has to do is work out which event he needs to change and go there. 

 

There was also that voice again. It’s becoming clearer but not enough to understand the message. So far he’s merely worked out that it’s repeating the same words over and over again. Like a chant or a spell. And he's convinced that he’s heard the voice before. It’s male and the only thing he knows for sure is whose voice it is _not_. It doesn’t belong to either Scott or his dad, neither is it Derek's. He’d recognize those in a heartbeat – and follow them without hesitation. For now he's desperately trying to hang on to the last vestiges of his dream. It feels like he should know what the voice is saying, like he _does_ know but it won’t come to him. It’s fading fast the more he prods at the memory. Within a few moments all he remembers is that there was a voice, but can’t recall anything about it. And yet he knows that it’s important that he works this out, that everything will become obvious once he knows who is saying what to him in his dreams. It’s maddening.

 

Eventually giving it up as a lost cause, he fumbles for his phone to look at the date. Finally! The last two days he was in a time long before he ever became involved with werewolves. The first day was about three months before Scott got bitten. Stiles had no idea what to do. He went to the Hale house but it became obvious pretty quickly that it was still abandoned. He couldn’t quite remember if Derek ever said when exactly Laura had returned to Beacon Hills but he thought it was about a month, six weeks at most, before he persuaded Scott to go and look for her body. Enough time for her to make some inquiries and run into Peter and for Derek to become concerned enough to follow her.

 

The idea of leaving her a message at the house was tempting but he was worried that Peter would find it before she'd have a chance. There was also the concern that his scent on any note would put Stationary Stiles in danger before he had any inkling of the supernatural, leaving him entirely unprepared. On the way home he noticed some people in the woods that he wouldn’t have paid attention to at this stage of his life but now instantly recognized as hunters. He resolved that he’d have to wait until he jumps to a point after Laura’s death so he could memorize her previous address from his father’s files in order to contact her directly if he gets jumped this far back again. Even if she doesn’t believe him, he can at least plant a seed of doubt about Peter in her mind. Maybe it’ll make her cautious enough not to get killed.

 

At school he made a point of looking for all the members of the pack. Lydia and Jackson were easy to spot, holding court wherever they happened to be as the undisputed golden couple of BHHS. With the benefit of hindsight or foresight or whatever, he realized that he didn’t even like Lydia that much at this stage of her life. His infatuation had certainly been for her potential rather than how she presented herself. Other than being physically flawless, of course, there was always that. Erica was off sick, Boyd was sitting alone in a corner reading a comic during break times and Isaac sported a bruise on his temple. It’s unfathomable to him now how he barely knew they existed back then.

 

He spent the rest of the day playing games with Scott in a deceptively calm pre-Allison, pre-werewolf atmosphere. It made him strangely melancholy so when he once again found himself in a time before Scott got bitten yesterday, about a week later from the day before, he simply skipped school and drove all the way to the ocean to spend a few hours at the beach. He reckoned he deserved a day off. Naturally his brain didn’t switch off at all. As he was lazing about on the sand, he wondered what he’d do if he went far enough back to see his mother again. She’s the one person he’ll never be able to save because no matter what he does, she’ll always get sick and die. There’s no _what if_ about her fate. Even an earlier diagnosis wouldn’t have helped as there’s no cure. He doesn’t think that he could go through losing her again. Seeing her for one day, interacting with her as his much younger self, just to have her snatched away again as soon as he falls asleep would destroy him. He’d rather go another round with the nogitsune.

 

However, for now he’s landed near the end of his sophomore year, right in the middle of _Fun times with the kanima_. Which is good in the sense that both Derek and Scott will be more receptive to his whacky reality but it’s not so good if he wants to see how what he does affects the outcome. Derek already told him that the previous changes to the timeline led to Peter being killed earlier and Lydia not getting bitten and leaving Beacon Hills. Much as Stiles would like to have his friendship with Lydia back, objectively it’s a good outcome with her being alive and well. So next on the list would be Erica. Somehow he needs to stop her and Boyd from running away. He also desperately wants to save the deputies at the sheriff station from being killed by the kanima. These are people he practically grew up with and who all had babysat him either at the station or in their own homes on various occasions when his father had to work.

 

For now he goes to school to talk to Scott and suffers through an uneventful day. Isaac and Erica swagger around the place as if they own it, while Boyd remains as quiet as he always was before the bite. The three of them sit together at lunch with their heads close and talking. Even from the distance there’s something exclusive about them that Stiles almost envies. The pack aura is noticeable although most people wouldn’t recognize it for what it is and just assume a somewhat sudden but very close friendship.

 

A few tables over Jackson is being his usual dickish self. Further on Lydia is looking bored with life in general or maybe just a little out of it. She doesn’t take any notice of what’s going on around her.

 

Obviously, Scott doesn’t ‘remember’ his talk about time travel as it took place at Lydia’s funeral which then never occurred, but at least he’s paying half-hearted attention to Stiles when he’s not too busy watching Allison talking to Matt. Eventually he turns to Stiles with big eyes and asks, “So can you tell me if Allison and I get back together in the future?”

 

Stiles pulls a face. “Really? That’s your only concern here? When you could ask me _anything_? What stocks to buy. Who’ll win the next Super Bowl. The lottery numbers for next week.”

 

Scott’s eyes get even bigger. “You know next week’s lottery numbers?”

 

“What? No! Of course not. I’d have to memorize every combination and their dates. Even I can’t do that. Can we focus on the bigger picture here?”

 

With an obedient nod Scott says, “So Allison and I… in the future?”

 

Stiles groans and rolls his eyes. It figures that for Scott Allison constitutes the bigger picture. Why is Stiles even trying? What is he expecting Scott to do anyway? Scott stumbled through the kanima period without a clue and with his eyes fixed firmly on the prize: Allison. He gambled Derek's life for that, trusting that his and Deaton’s plan for Gerard would work, which was by no means certain. His single-mindedness at that time was less endearingly romantic and more annoyingly predictable. This is the reason Stiles has been going to Derek with his little problem. Well, that and his feelings. He can’t help it. He _misses_ Derek. More than anyone.

 

After school he heads to the train station or rather the depot about a mile and a half down the track where the old trains go to die. Before he can get anywhere near the entrance, Erica is blocking his path, just standing there as if she materialized out of thin air, not in the least bit fazed that he barely manages to stop the Jeep before it hits her.

 

“Jeez,” he shouts and scrambles out.

 

“Hey, Stiles,” Erica says lazily. “Going somewhere?”

 

“I need to see Derek.”

 

“Really? And why would that be?”

 

“So I can talk to him?”

 

She tilts her head and then nods, as if she’s been listening for something, probably instructions from her alpha. Smiling predatorily she steps aside. "Be our guest."

 

Stiles slinks past her with great caution because of all the pack members she’s the only one who's ever hurt him. Derek throwing him about was just one long foreplay. And who knows? Maybe Erica’s was, too. She did admit to having a crush on him in the past. It’s possible that werewolves in general consider roughing someone up a little the height of flirting. For now he keeps an eye on her.

 

He enters the almost derelict hall and has to walk through some shadowed part before he gets to Derek, who’s standing in the middle of a large empty space bathed in light falling through a patch of broken roof. He really has a flare for the dramatic with his crossed arms and stupid biceps and slightly dirty tank top. Why does he always have smears of blood on his clothes? On the other hand, the train depot is unlikely to be stocked with a washing machine.

 

By the time Stiles reaches him, he can feel all three betas at his back and rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. Being surrounded by a pack of newly-turned werewolves who haven’t learned to fully control their powers yet is not his idea of fun.

 

“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek asks coldly.

 

“I need to talk to you.” Stiles looks around at the other three uneasily and suddenly doesn’t feel like sharing his wacky adventure with them. “Alone.”

 

There’s a snicker, either from Erica or Isaac, Stiles can’t tell. Derek, too, seems unimpressed with his request and doesn’t say anything for far too long until he finally nods. “Everybody out.”

 

The surprise and dismay of the pack is almost palpable and Stiles can’t resist smirking at each of them in turn. Erica and Isaac look ready to kill him on the spot while Boyd’s eyes are just a warning that Stiles will only be safe until he does something that displeases Derek at which point all bets will be off. Eventually they all disappear, seemingly melting into the shadows.

 

When he’s certain that they’re out of earshot, he turns back to Derek. “Remember when we went to see Peter at the nursing home?”

 

Derek nods, still looking at him questioningly.

 

“Well, it’s happening again.”

 

There’s a pause then Derek asks sardonically, “You want to go to the nursing home again? To see Peter? Who no longer lives there and is also… _dead_?”

 

“Well, temporarily dead. But no. I mean, remember when I told you Peter’s the alpha? _That’s_ happening again.”

 

“You’ve lost me. _What’s_ happening again? And the way I remember it, _I_ told _you_ he was the alpha and to get out of there.”

 

The enormity of that sentence takes a few moments to sink in with all its meaning. _No, no, no, no, no… this isn’t right…like, at all!_ Reeling back a step or two, Stiles can feel his world crumbling and realigning itself as the connection he was relying on is abruptly severed. He’s been feeling so close to Derek, bound together by the shared knowledge of what’s happening with him. Derek’s been someone to talk to, someone to keep Stiles sane in this, the only steady surface in the ever-shifting landscape of his crazy life. “You don’t remember what I told you?”

 

“You never seem to shut up so you have to be more specific.”

 

“About time travel? Leaping? Whatever.”

 

Derek's eyes widen for a moment. “No,” he says in a deadpan voice. “That amount of crazy would stick out even among _your_ verbal diarrhea. I think I would remember that.”

 

“Oh, fuck.” Stiles rubs the back of his head and tries to remain calm. It’s not easy. Apart from the wider implications, he’s assumed that he and Derek have an understanding. Now he’s standing in the very heart of his territory, in his den, with his whole pack just waiting for him to make a wrong move and Derek is not who Stiles thought he was. And yet… he doesn’t feel afraid. Not of Derek. Because he _knows_ Derek and even at this point in time Derek wouldn’t harm him, not without cause. So he does what he does best, he talks. A lot. And very fast.

 

Derek's reaction is pretty much the same as before, accusing him of being crazy.

 

“I don’t get why you remembered all this last time, but this time you don’t. It makes no sense.” Then Stiles has an idea and it’s not reassuring. “Did Peter bite Lydia at the Winter Formal?”

 

“You were there, Stiles.”

 

“Humor me.” At Derek's raised eyebrows, he adds, “Please.”

 

“Yes, Peter bit her. She didn’t turn. Which makes her the number one suspect for being the kanima.”

 

“Lydia’s not the kanima,” Stiles says dismissively. “If Lydia was the kanima, she would be beautiful and radiant and terrifying. All would love her and despair. Like Galadriel if she took Frodo’s ring. Jackson’s the kanima.”

 

“He can’t be. We tested him.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you tested him when he was _Jackson_ and the kanima’s only immune to its own poison when it’s the _kanima_. And Lydia’s immune because she’s a banshee.”

 

“A banshee?” Derek snorts. Then, when Stiles just looks at him, he becomes more thoughtful. “And you know all this because…?”

 

“Because I’m time travelling. Get with the program, will you?”

 

This time Derek's raised eyebrows are a clear warning not to get too familiar. “Right. Let’s assume I believe you. What did you mean by ‘temporarily’ when I said Peter’s dead?”

 

“Oh that. Lydia’s gonna poison you with wolfsbane and make you resurrect him. But she doesn’t really mean to do it. She’s been whammied by him, probably when he bit her. And no, you’re not allowed to kill her. Or Jackson. Don’t kill anyone. I want everyone alive and well when I get back to the future.”

 

“I would have thought you’d be right with us, trying to kill Jackson. Wouldn’t that play nicely into your hands, with Lydia being the love of your life and all?”

 

It’s the strange undertone in Derek's voice that makes Stiles stop and take note. He smiles. “I have my sights set on someone else.”

 

Derek's response is full of disdain. “Yeah, good luck with that. Make sure she’s not a homicidal maniac.”

 

Stiles swallows his immediate response of ‘ _no, that’s your specialty’_ because he’s not such a jerk any longer, not to Derek anyways, and just goes with a soft, “He’s not.”

 

Derek seems confused, either by the choice of pronoun or the gentle tone.

 

“So if you didn’t remember any of my time travelling from before, why did you agree to talk to me alone so readily?”

 

Derek looks honest to god embarrassed, ducking his head and blushing, of which Stiles can only see the reddened tips of his ears for now, but he knows it’s there. And oh god, how did he not fall in love with this man at first sight? He’s adorable.

 

Finally Derek looks up and despite his slightly pink cheeks his voice is calm. “You held me up in the pool.”

 

“You said it didn’t mean that you trust me.”

 

“I don’t. But I like to pay my debts.”

 

Oh yes, _utterly adorable_.

 

 

 

 

Later when he’s alone in his room, after his dad’s gone to sleep, Stiles lies on his bed wondering what’s going on. It stands to reason that Scott doesn’t remember the time travel story. The only time Stiles told him about it was at Lydia’s funeral which he subsequently changed by telling Derek that Peter’s the alpha. Derek retained the knowledge of that and he and Stiles could talk about it as a shared memory, even if Stationary Stiles has no idea about any of it.

 

But why does Derek not remember it this time? In fact why does it seem like it never happened? Instead events are unfolding as they were in Stiles’s original memory, with Lydia getting bitten and not leaving for college early, as it ‘should be’ as far as Stiles knows. So the timeline has been reset somehow. How? He changed it when he told Derek about his uncle and there _were_ consequences because Derek told him about them. So how come he’s back to square one?

 

Come to think of it: how did he ever end up at Lydia’s funeral after she died when Peter bit her? That was already an altered timeline on his very first ‘leap’. So _he_ didn’t alter it. It was already changed before he got there. Unless he made some leaps he forgot about which isn’t impossible but neither does it seem likely. Which leaves only one conclusion that makes sense for all of it: there’s more than one reality! He jumped to a parallel universe, one where Lydia died much earlier.

 

That would mean that he’s not only displaced in time but also in space. He needs to get back to his own universe and his own time – but only after he’s changed his future for the better. How’s he going to accomplish that? He can’t even tell one universe from the other. At the moment he’s in one where everything unfolded the way he remembers it from what he thought was a dream but now considers his _original_ reality – his _origi-ality_ so to speak. Lydia got bitten, turned into a banshee and presumably died much later under different circumstances.

 

The parallel universe is the one where she got bitten by Peter and died. Then Stiles told Derek who the alpha was much earlier than originally and prevented Lydia’s death. But today he’s back in his _origiality_ where he hasn’t changed anything yet. Other than talking to Derek today and pretty much telling him everything he knows about the future. He even spoke to Erica, Boyd and Isaac about not leaving Derek when the Alpha Pack comes to town. They all scoffed at the very idea that they ever would. Except for Derek, who remained silent.

 

So did he change anything? How can he be sure? How does he even know if _this_ is his _origiality_ and not a different universe altogether? The multiverse theory states that there’s an infinite number of universes existing at the same time. Maybe the universe where Lydia was dead and the universe where Derek told him that he killed Peter earlier and Lydia left for college weren’t the same universe either. He just assumed they were. Just like he’s assuming now that this is his _origiality_ , simply because so far everything is the same as it is in his memory. The only thing he can tell for sure is that the universe where he told Derek about Peter and the one where he saved him from Jennifer’s clutches were the same because Derek told him so. Other than that there could really be an infinite number out there.

 

He pulls his pillow over his face to muffle a frustrated groan with it. Then he hugs it to his chest and tries again on his train of thought. He must find a way to identify his own universe and then he must work out how to change the timeline in such a way that it yields the result he’s aiming for. Jumping to different universes could be a way to establish how any changes affect the timeline but only if he can tell each one from the other. Otherwise things might just be randomly different. That’s the idea at the heart of the multiverse theory, isn’t it? Turn a different corner and all that.

 

By now he has a pulsating headache just above his temples, on both edges of his… frontal lobe. He squeezes his eyes shut with no effect. Of course, it reminds him of the simplest explanation for what’s happening, the straightforward reason for all this, the one that’s not complicated at all, the one he’s trying really hard to ignore. But the more he shoves it to the innermost center of his mind to be buried under all his frantic thoughts and tangential ideas, the more devastating it is when it resurfaces to mock him with apparent rational thinking: _What do you think is the more likely scenario here, buddy? That you’re time travelling and through different parallel universes, no less, or that you’re simply suffering from the same affliction your mother had? Eh? Be honest with yourself now. What’s more likely?_

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

**_ Day 9 _ **

 

Struggling to consciousness, Stiles lies still for a few moments, as ever grasping at the voice that’s fading fast. He still can’t tell what it says or recognize the speaker, but that’s not the only thing bothering him today. There seemed to be a second voice he never noticed before, fainter than the other one and he tried to ignore it because it seemed like a good idea to deal with one voice at a time. Nevertheless it distracted him and he really doesn’t need identifying the first one to be any harder. That’s all he remembers about his dream, however, and it’s more a feeling than a memory. Was it perhaps just an echo? Or was it really a second voice joining the first? By now he can’t even tell if the second voice was male or female. It would also be really awesome to wake up rested for once, instead of having to fight off this brain fog every morning.

 

His bedroom door opens and his father sticks his head in. “Morning. You awake?”

 

Stiles grunts back unintelligibly, his chances of recalling any part of his dream dissipating instantly like a puff of smoke in a sudden draft.

 

“If you don’t get up now you’ll be late for school. And you know what happens if you’re late for school: no dance tonight. Sorry. Those are the rules. Not my fault.”

 

Stiles folds the top half of the covers back so he can look at his dad properly. “Actually it’s totally your fault since you’re the maker of said rules. Don’t pretend you’re innocent. You’re the sole compiler and enforcer of any and all rules in this house.”

 

There’s a theatrical sigh. “And yet I don’t seem to have any authority over the nutrients that go into my own body.”

 

“Nutrients implies _nutritional value_. That’s usually patently absent from your food choices. But you have total authority over what type of fruit or veg you want.”

 

“Your generosity knows no bounds. I’m touched. Now get up.”

 

There’s a gentle thud as the door shuts. Stiles smiles fondly for a few moments before he checks his phone to make sure that ‘dance tonight’ means what he thinks it means. Yep, the Winter Formal. How excited he was to take Lydia to it. He really thought it would make a difference to how she felt about him. She just needed to get to know him, right? And appreciate how much he worshipped her and how well he’d treat her if she gave him a chance. Nowadays he knows that a million dances wouldn’t have changed a thing. She was too much in love with Jackson and love doesn’t work that way.

 

While he’s under the shower he regrets most of all that he’ll disappoint both his dad and Lydia. This day he remembers with perfect clarity and there’s no way he’ll be going to school today. His dad will be upset about that and Lydia will be humiliated that even the school misfit she was coerced to accept as her date ditches her. She’ll hate Stiles forever.

 

“Better than getting bitten by a werewolf,” he mutters as he turns off the water.

 

 

 

He’s just in time to catch Scott as he’s getting onto his bike outside his house.

 

“Were we supposed to go to school together today?”

 

“Nah. Get in anyway.”

 

Scott scrambles into the Jeep without objection. “What’s up, man?”

 

“I know where Derek is. We have to rescue him.”

 

“Didn’t you tell me that I should just let it go?”

 

“I changed my mind. Do you remember when I was talking to you about time-travel?”

 

“In third grade? Yeah, man, you were, like, obsessed with it.”

 

“No. More recent than that.”

 

Scott gives it a little thought before shaking his head. “No, honestly don’t remember that. What’s it got to do with Derek?”

 

Oh, fuck, he just remembered that no matter what universe this is, Scott _can’t_ remember any recent conversations about time travel because Stiles hasn’t _told_ him yet. Both those occasions were _after_ the dance. He’s probably landed in yet another reality anyway. Unless… “Peter Hale’s still alive, right?”

 

Scott gives him a long look. “Yes. We’re all looking for him.”

 

So not the reality where he told Derek about Peter much earlier. Maybe with a bit of luck it’s the one he was in yesterday but that wouldn’t be any help either because yesterday was in the future from today. Jeez, when will it ever end? He’s so damned tired of starting from scratch every morning.

 

“What’s going on? Where are we going? School’s that way.” Scott’s craning his neck at the missed turnoff as if to make sure he’s not mistaken.

 

“Which bit of ‘we have to rescue Derek’ were you having particular difficulties with?”

 

“Not during _school!_ ” Scott sounds scandalized as if he’s never played hooky before. But that was with Allison, of course, who transcends all rules and regulations.

 

“Scott,” Stiles says reasonably. “Derek's being tortured _right now_. I’m not gonna sit through a bunch of pointless lessons and leave him like that.”

 

“Why? You didn’t seem to care before.”

 

“Yeah, I was wrong. I can’t do this alone, Scotty. Please, help me.”

 

The direct appeal always works. Scott’s eyes turn soft and he nods. “Sure, man. But Mom's gonna kill me. Again.”

 

 

 

 

They park the Jeep more than a mile from the Hale house and hike the rest of the way through the woods to avoid getting spotted by hunters on their approach. Stiles envies Scott his easy stamina. While he’s put on a lot of muscle over the years, right now he’s in his sixteen-year-old body and despite the suicide runs Finstock makes them do during practice, he’s nowhere near as fit as he’s become later. So he keeps up as best he can.

 

For a long while they watch the house, which appears completely deserted. The torn splinters of lighter wood caused by recent bullets show up starkly against the weathered old walls and Stiles has to grit his teeth. He hates Kate Argent with a passion.

 

Scott looks at him questioningly.

 

“I don’t know,” Stiles hisses. “Can’t you hear or smell him? Do your werewolf thing. He’s underground somewhere.” He just stops himself from adding that Scott should know before he remembers that Scott _doesn’t_ know. Unlike Stiles, he has no memory of doing this before and Stiles is going only by hearsay of what Scott told him afterwards.

 

His friend dutifully sticks his nose in the air and kind of sniffles. Then he takes off toward the house with Stiles on his heels. They round the building and move away from it past the point where Stiles starts to think that Scott’s just going in circles when they come to a barred entrance under an overhang, fairly well hidden, although not so much once you know it’s there.

 

With their long friendship, it only takes a quick exchange of looks for Scott to ask for reassurance and guidance and for Stiles to give it. A firm push opens a small bar gate despite the strong-looking lock and they enter a corridor, short enough not to require any illumination in daylight but making Stiles feel decidedly claustrophobic. At the very end there’s a locked steel door on the right, which also doesn’t pose any real problem for a werewolf. The room beyond is dimly lit, but Derek's silhouette is clearly visible hanging from chains with some electrical equipment connected to the side of his bare torso.

 

Stiles rushes forward as soon as he’s sure there aren’t any nasty surprises in the form of hunters inside. The padlock on the outside already told him that but he’s learned to anticipate the unexpected.

 

“Wait,” Scott says when Stiles moves to the machine next to Derek.

 

“What?”

 

“I need his help.”

 

“Are you suggesting we keep torturing him until he agrees?” Stiles frowns because he didn’t expect his best friend to be so callous. It reminds him unpleasantly that according to Derek Scott also suggested the Argents must have had a reason for killing the Hale family. He turns and determinedly switches the machine off, regretting even the short delay caused by Scott’s interjection.

 

Derek breathes deeply but doesn’t move otherwise, glaring at Scott. Stiles looks around for something to remove the chains.

 

“We won’t free you until you promise to help me,” Scott says. “Peter’s after the Argents. He’ll kill Allison. I know he told you he was out of his mind when he killed your sister but he actually lured her here so he could take her power. It was quite predetermined.”

 

“Premeditated,” Stiles corrects automatically, earning himself a glare from the other two. “It’s true by the way.” He’s found pliers and a large screwdriver and moves towards Derek. “He deliberately left those spirals on the animal carcasses so she’d come to investigate.” He inspects Derek's bound wrists to work out the best way to take the shackles off without hurting him.

 

“Wait!” Scott says again, a little more desperately this time. “Don’t let him go before he agrees.”

 

Stiles turns to Scott. “Are you frigging kidding me right now? Derek's been tortured. _Tortured._ Any decent human being would help him in a heartbeat and you want to stipulate _conditions?_ That’s cold, man. And twisted.”

 

Behind him he can hear the clanking of chains making him turn around and rolling his eyes. Derek has broken the chains and is in the process of removing the iron cuffs.

 

“And, of course, you don’t require any help anyway,” Stiles huffs. “What was I thinking?”

 

“Stiles,” Scott says unhappily. “I need him to help me kill Peter.”

 

Stiles looks at Derek and says calmly. “He’ll do it.”

 

Derek raises his eyebrows at him sardonically. Then he looks at Scott. “You’re sixteen, Scott. I know you think you’re in love but you’re just a child. Allison’s a hunter. She’ll destroy you and laugh in your face doing it.” His tone is agitated as only Kate Argent can make him. Stiles winces at the thought of how Derek must have felt over the last few days, how furious and disgusted and frightened. And yet his focus is still on making Scott see sense, to save him from what Derek had to go through.

 

Scott’s spluttered response is as indignant as it is incomprehensible.

 

“But I’ll help you,” Derek continues more calmly, almost resigned. “Peter’s crossed the line. He needs killed.” He looks at Stiles. “Was this your idea? How did you know where to find me?”

 

“You took Scott’s phone. It’s got GPS. And you can thank me properly later. Now we should really get out of here.”

 

They gather up a few items, like the phone and Derek's leather jacket, his shirt being beyond repair. Then they make their way to the house where Derek keeps his clothes in a small recess that’s at least keeping them out of the rain if nothing else. He puts on a clean sweater. Despite his best efforts to hide it, it’s obvious he’s dead on his feet. A couple of days of torture will do that to you.

 

Scott seems content to go along with everything as long as he can be sure that Derek will help him hunt down Peter and save Allison. He’s back to being his solicitous self.

 

Stiles is just tired.

 

 

 

Naturally, Scott wants to be dropped off at school afterward. God forbid he’d miss any time staring adoringly at Allison. Stiles contemplates forewarning him about getting exposed as a werewolf to her on this very night but then decides to just let him go. Allison will find out one way or another and with Kate heavily influencing her, nothing Scott can do will mitigate her dismay.

 

In the school parking lot, Scott dawdles a little next to the Jeep then looks at Stiles winsomely. “Peter will try and kill Allison. You know that. I’m not… I’m not a bad person, I just need Derek's help and his family’s caused all the problems. It was his uncle who bit me.”

 

Stiles doesn’t point out that Derek’s been trying to get Scott to join forces with him for weeks now because he remembers only too well that he himself advocated vehemently against trusting Derek. But he can’t just agree either. “I’d say it was Allison’s family who caused all the problems here. You know, with burning down the Hale house and all.”

 

Scott has the decency to look sheepish before he says a quick goodbye and dashes off to catch chemistry class and plan how to best gatecrash the dance tonight. Meanwhile Stiles takes Derek home with him. It’s becoming a theme but what else can he do? Derek needs to recover to be any good to anyone. He lets him use his own bed again but he’s not sure if Derek actually sleeps or is just resting with his eyes closed. Either way his own room is safer than the couch downstairs in case his father comes home.

 

With nothing to do Stiles contemplates going to school for the afternoon. It might appease his dad, who’s already called him twice, the second time to leave a message that he’ll send the whole squad out to find him if he doesn’t answer. Eventually he bites the bullet and calls him back to tell him that he’s sick. While he endures an exasperated lecture, he wonders how he managed to do these things before. But then again, the way he remembers it his antics never really involved skipping school because his focus was always on Scott – who was also in school, of course. Now his focus is mainly on Derek because helping him out seems to be his best chance to effect any changes. With the way he’s jumping through time and space, hopefully his sick days will be spread over several universes. And he can’t believe that his life has come to a point where that thought even makes sense!

 

But despite feeling that he must have earned maybe a grain of trust or gratitude from Derek, he’d much rather not leave him alone right now, in case he disappears on him. He needs Derek to be around tonight to make sure Lydia remains unharmed and hopefully to kill his uncle. Or even better to let Scott do the deed this time. That would certainly change everything.

 

In the afternoon they relocate to the Burger King at the other end of town in case his dad finishes early. Derek drinks several cups of coffee and eats what feels like the whole menu. Stiles has to cry off after his second helping. He doesn’t enjoy fast food as much as he did when he was a teenager. They’re huddled in a tiny alcove that allows Derek to have his back to the wall while remaining somewhat hidden from general view. From there he watches the other patrons and all the exits leaving Stiles to make several trips to the counter to get fresh supplies spread out over three hours to ensure the staff won’t ask them to leave. In between he tells Derek about what’s happening to him. Predictably Derek scoffs at his account until Stiles tells him a few things about himself he shouldn’t know at this stage. But it only makes Derek more suspicious. Being so used to having Derek's ear and really all the rest of his body, too, Stiles is again taken aback by how much his hostility hurts.

 

He’s patient at first, reiterating points over and over again with little headway, until he finally snaps, “You know what? You don’t need to like me or even trust me, just let’s work together to get rid of Peter because we have the same goal, alright?” He’s so tired and so frustrated by being alone in this all over again each day that his voice trembles. And yes, maybe he just wants to have _his_ Derek back, the one who listened to him, trusted him… loved him.

 

Derek looks at him for a long while. “I _can’t_ trust you,” he says quietly, emphasizing the _‘can’t’_ almost like a regret.

 

“I know. Can we at least be reluctant allies for today?”

 

“Because tomorrow you won’t remember any of this… because you’re… time-traveling?” Derek raises his eyebrows but his eyes crinkle at the corners. He’s amused despite himself.

 

Stiles shrugs hoping Derek will humor him if nothing else.

 

“Let’s say I believe you: why are you doing this?” This time Derek is completely serious. For a few moments he even neglects to check his surroundings. “You could do whatever you want with no repercussions to yourself. Because tomorrow it’s not you who’ll face the consequences. There must be better ways than changing little things. Be bold. Shoot all the Argents. Shoot Peter. You’d be doing the world a favor.”

 

“I went to the beach once because there was nothing I could do that day. But I don’t want to get my other self into trouble and I most certainly don’t want him to spend the rest of his life in jail or thinking he’s nuts because he can’t remember doing shit. And what if this is my reality? I want everyone to live happily ever after or at least live, period, not unleash Armageddon on them. Plus, I don’t even know what would happen if I get injured or died.”

 

“Wow, that sucks.” It comes out a lot softer than Derek has spoken to him all day and he gazes at Stiles contemplatively. Then he slowly moves his eyes away and starts up his vigilant observation of the place again, dismissing Stiles’s problems without giving any indication whether he believes him or not.

 

“Tell me about it,” Stiles mutters to himself.

 

 

 

After dark they’re on the bleachers watching the well-lit school and the excited students arriving for the Winter Formal. It’s strange to see Jackson and Allison together even with the benefit of the years that have passed. Stiles has never really forgiven Jackson for what he did to Lydia and for being such a bullying, insecure asshole in general. When Lydia arrives he’s dismayed on the one hand because he was hoping that after he texted her this afternoon saying he was sick, she wouldn’t turn up at all and be safe from Peter. On the other hand he’s proud of her for coming despite being dateless and for holding her head up high as she walks in.

 

He’s deep in thought wondering if he’s changed events enough today for Lydia to be safe now. Theoretically Peter could still be chaperoning the dance although his main motivation for threatening Lydia to get Stiles to help him find Derek is now redundant. On the other hand, Derek's voice message to tell his uncle that he’s free has remained unanswered. That’s why they’re here. He prays that history won’t repeat itself and even more so that it won’t repeat the other version, the one where Lydia died. Will she turn into a banshee if she doesn’t get bitten? The way he understands it, the bite just brought out her powers, not gave them to her. So will she come into them later? Or does it take a traumatic event? He’s already seen one reality where Lydia didn’t get bitten, didn’t turn later and just left. It’s still an outcome he could live with.

 

Derek suddenly turns his head away from the scene at the school, toward the woods by the side of the lacrosse field. Stiles is instantly alerted by the sharp movement but can’t even see the trees properly in the dark after looking at the illuminated building for so long.

 

“He’s here,” Derek hisses. “Get inside. Find Scott. Don’t look back.”

 

Without hesitation Stiles takes off toward the school. Behind him there are the unmistakable growls of werewolves facing off and he can’t resist looking towards the noise. Unfortunately the darkness remains impenetrable. _Scott! He must find Scott and fast!_

 

Skidding along the corridor as he enters the school, he nearly topples over a girl in high heels and a long gown, whom he doesn’t recognize in this get-up. Her date, Kyle Masterson he thinks, threatens him with bodily harm but Stiles doesn’t stop to argue the point just yells an apology. In the school hall the first person he sees is Lydia giving him an initially incredulous soon turned withering glare. He mouths _‘so sorry’_ from a safe distance before he spots Scott in a dark corner, where he’s using a group of jocks for cover.

 

“We gotta go,” he gasps, out of breath, when he gets to him.

 

“Why? Where? I haven’t danced with Allison yet.”

 

Stiles looks over his shoulder at the jocks and drags a reluctant Scott out of their earshot. “Believe me, I’m doing you a favor. Peter’s outside. And Derek. And if you want to kill the bastard, now’s your chance. Peter, I mean. Just to be clear: this is your chance to kill _Peter_. Do _not_ kill Derek. Oh yeah, and the Argents know you’re the other…” He doesn’t want to use the word werewolf in a crowd so he just makes his hand into a claw shape and shows his teeth.

 

When Scott still hesitates, gazing longingly in Allison’s direction, Stiles pushes him towards the door, which Scott allows reluctantly. Unfortunately Stiles makes the mistake of looking back over his shoulder where his eyes meet Lydia’s again. She scowls at him with pure hatred. What must she be thinking of him canceling on her when he’s here now, obviously _not_ sick? He wouldn’t want to wake up in this same timeline tomorrow morning. Maybe he should leave a note to himself, so Stationary Stiles is at least forewarned.

 

Outside there are still students arriving for the dance. Danny is there with his boyfriend paying Stiles and Scott no heed, as always. The bleachers and the lacrosse pitch are deserted though and even Scott’s hyper-senses can’t detect anyone.

 

“We must catch up with them,” Stiles says, but then shouts, “That’s not what I meant,” when Scott takes off across the field at a run. For a moment Stiles just stands there, then he runs back to his jeep.

 

“Stiles!”

 

He turns to see Allison come out of the school, her dress hitched up to her knees to allow her to move faster.

 

“You look very nice,” he says trying to get into his car without too much delay.

 

“Don’t try and butter me up,” she retorts angrily. “I’m coming with you.”

 

Looking her up and down, he tries again, “You look stunning, Allison, really, but you can’t wear that where I’m going.”

 

“You know what? I’m sick and tired of being lied to and being kept in the dark. I’ll get my stuff from my car and if you don’t wait for me, I’ll just follow you. Either way I’m coming with you.”

 

Sighing he makes a conciliatory gesture and even drives the car over to the spot next to hers as she gets a bag out of the trunk. “Bring your bow!”

 

That earns him a curious look but she just puts the weapon and quiver on the back seat. The next ten minutes he spends studiously avoiding glancing in her direction as she somehow shimmies out of her evening dress into a sleek sweater and pants combo all in black. She even has sensible shoes. It must be the archery equivalent of keeping your lacrosse gear in your trunk.

 

“So you know about werewolves,” he starts.

 

Allison head comes up sharply. “You know about that?” Then after a pause: “Of course, you do. You’re you. Does Scott know? Or is that a silly question, too?”

 

“Kinda. Are you sure you want to get involved in this mess? Because there’s gonna be blood tonight.”

 

She seems a little paler than normal but determined. “I think my family’s already involved. I want to know.”

 

Stiles has serious doubts but he tells her everything anyway, at least everything up to that point in time because werewolves are quite enough without adding time travel. It helps that she’s already seen Derek in his werewolfly glory, but he makes sure that she knows exactly who and what Kate is and what she did to the Hale family. It takes almost the whole drive for that to sink in and be accepted. Only then does he tell her that Scott is also a werewolf.

 

When they reach the Hale house there’s already too much going on. Derek is half-covering Scott as Kate and Chris are in a stand-off. The way Stiles remembers it from before is that Kate threatened to kill Scott and Chris wanted to abide by the code. Of course, there are several steps missing in this scenario. Allison isn’t with Kate this time, nor has Stiles planted the suggestion with Chris about what Kate did. So kudos to the hunter for finally working it out himself or maybe just admitting to himself what he’s always suspected.

 

Allison is out of the car and running toward her aunt and her father before the Jeep has come to a complete stop. It distracts the two older Argents at the crucial moment when Peter, as a fully transformed alpha, comes out of seemingly nowhere and knocks Chris on his back and unconscious before dragging Kate into the house.

 

Momentarily held up by checking on her father Allison then runs after Kate and Peter. Stiles scrambles out of the car while Derek holds Scott back, who’s desperately trying to get to Allison, ignoring Derek's attempt at formulating some kind of plan to take down his uncle together. There’s really no reason why Stiles should help Kate’s situation, so he busies himself finding the weapons he knows are in his trunk. Three Molotov cocktails, all prepared and ready to launch. He grabs two of them as well as Allison’s bow and quiver from the backseat.

 

It’s unfortunate that Allison will have to see her aunt get killed again but it can’t be helped now. Scott finally gets free from Derek's grasp and follows Allison into the house with Derek just seconds behind. By the time Stiles reaches the veranda, both Derek and Scott are thrown past him onto the ground in front of the house in short succession, followed by Peter who streaks past so fast he’s almost a blur.

 

They face off at the tree line with Peter half in shadow but still terrifyingly grotesque and Derek and Scott picking themselves up and standing a little way off. Derek in particular looks as if he’s considering just making a run for it. He knows better than anyone that the two of them don’t stand a chance against the crazed alpha. Scott looks more determined but he’s also more naïve and doesn’t fully grasp the danger he’s in. Strangely enough Derek keeps shooting glances at Stiles, warning him to keep his distance without words.

 

When Allison comes out of the house in a half-stumble, Stiles pushes her bow and arrow at her and she seems to wake up from her horrified trance.

 

“Shoot the alpha,” Stiles says pointing at Peter for good measure. “Do not shoot anyone else. Now.”

 

As soon as Allison releases the first arrow, Stiles throws one of the bottles. Peter is unimpressed by both projectiles. He catches the bottle and removes the arrow from his shoulder as if it’s a dart, something he feels but is ultimately unimportant. Stiles throws the second bottle at Peter’s feet where it explodes into flames immediately, not quite reaching him as he steps back. Meanwhile Allison has transformed the alpha into a pin cushion and hits the bottle in his hand making it burst into flames as well. Peter screams and staggers forward engulfed in burning agony and right into the second blaze. It’s a horrific spectacle that took Stiles a long time to banish from his dreams, possibly the most awful thing he’s ever seen in terms of sheer vomit-inducing gruesomeness. It’s the smell of burning flesh that’s the worst; it will linger in his nose for weeks.

 

It doesn’t take long for Peter to drop to the floor and roll around until he’s simply smoldering in the very literal sense of the word. Stiles gets a glimpse of Derek's features and instantly regrets not changing this course of action. What was he thinking? How could he have put Derek through this – _again_ – after what happened to his family? It’s bad enough knowing that his family burned to death, he didn’t need a practical demonstration to remind him and have even more vivid nightmares about. Derek looks as sick as Stiles feels. Then, just a few moments later, he rallies and stalks over to Peter with a determined face.

 

“Derek, no,” Stiles says and makes himself walk closer when all he wants is to get as far away as possible from the stench and Peter’s gurgling breaths and most of all from the memory of Derek looking so wrecked. “Let Scott. You promised.”

 

Derek is standing over his uncle, who’s barely alive at this stage. All it takes is a quick swipe with his claws, as Stiles knows only too well, so he ventures even closer, into touching distance. He avoids looking down and instead tries to look into Derek's eyes. “Let Scott,” he repeats more quietly. Being so used to Derek listening to him it doesn’t enter his head that this Derek might just ignore him.

 

Derek shoots him a glance but immediately returns his eyes to the body under him. Even with the opponent in this condition he doesn’t take any chances. Incredibly Peter appears to be smirking but it might just be the way his skin has shrunk from the burning. For a long while Derek is completely still. Stiles very carefully places a hand on his forearm and when Derek shoots him another glance, Stiles shakes his head with pleading eyes. Eventually Derek moves to stand next to Peter, allowing Scott, who’s crept closer in increments, to take his place.

 

Scott is shaking all over, squinting downward as if he’s trying to avoid getting a good look. It’s obvious that he’s frozen in place, unable to forego his chance at a cure but equally incapable of doing what’s needed.

 

“You have to slice his throat,” Stiles urges. If this carries on much longer, he can imagine at least a dozen scenarios of what could happen next and none of them good.

 

“I can’t,” Scott says, looking at Stiles for help.

 

“I can’t do it for you. If you wanna be cured, here’s your chance.” Truthfully Stiles can’t understand why Scott would even want to. Hunters aside, werewolf powers are awesome. Once past the risk of the actual bite, Stiles would never give them up if he already had them. And Scott in particular has his asthma to consider, which already nearly killed him twice, once when he was eight and again four years later. Why risk that?

 

“I’m gonna be sick.” True enough, Scott looks a terrible color even with all the extra hair of his transformation.

 

“After,” Stiles says. “There’s no time. Either do it now or let Derek do it.” When Peter laughs mockingly at either option despite his injuries, Stiles grows twice as concerned by the delay. What if Peter heals in the meantime? Stiles didn’t come here to make things worse. Panic floods him. “Think of Allison. You can be with her.”

 

And that’s what finally does it. After a quick glance at the love of his life, Scott turns back to Peter and slices his claws down – with his eyes shut. It’s only his preternatural coordination and precision that makes the strike hit home and true. The gurgling stops and Scott stumbles away a few steps to the nearest tree, rests his hand on the trunk for support and empties the contents of his stomach on the ground. Quite frankly, Stiles feels like doing the same.

 

For a few long moments nobody is certain what to do. Derek is staring intensely at the body by his feet probably to determine if his uncle’s really dead. Being a werewolf he doesn’t need to examine him. Then he walks over to Scott putting a hand on his shoulder and peering into his face. As Scott lifts his head to look at Derek, Stiles can see his eyes glow red. _Oh fuck!_

 

“Did you know?” Scott snarls at Derek. “Did you just want me to do your dirty work for you? You’re the worst.”

 

Derek makes no attempt at defending himself. For a few moments it looks like they may come to blows then Scott just stalks toward Allison.

 

“Scott,” Stiles says a little helplessly. “Are you okay, man?” As Scott ignores him, Stiles tries again, stepping towards him. “Scott?”

 

This time Scott rounds on him, his eyes flashing dangerously red. “You made me do this. Why did you make me do this?” A fleeting glance at the dead body makes him shudder. Then he walks over to allow Allison to envelope him in her arms.

 

Long after Scott’s run off into the woods and Allison’s woken up her father and left with him and Kate’s body, Stiles is still standing there trying to comprehend what a complete fuck-up this was. Literally everything went wrong. Scott didn’t get the cure he wanted so desperately. He’s now the alpha when he’s already proven that he’s not exactly leadership material. He’s also really messed-up over having killed someone, which Stiles really didn’t foresee when he should have. He’s angry with Stiles so he’s without one of his main support systems. Allison may be okay with him for now but her family will hunt him down because now he can be killed without breaking the code. And, oh joy, Gerard will be arriving in town soon to do the honors. But, hey, bright side: Scott won’t die of an asthma attack.

 

Stiles is startled out of his reverie when Derek appears to pick up the corpse. Belatedly Stiles registers the sound of digging by its absence. He follows Derek to the hole he’s dug at the back of the house and which he now lowers Peter into. Then he watches him close the makeshift grave with a stony expression.

 

“Do you want to say something?” Stiles asks when it’s done, thinking of how Derek has done this before and how he thinks Peter was his last living relative. And who knows? Maybe in this universe that's actually true.

 

Derek huffs without humor. “Like what? He killed my sister. Good riddance.”

 

Well, that’s pretty much how Stiles feels about it, too. He doesn’t mourn Peter just hated having to watch him burn and die. “Do you want to come back to my house with me? You could get some sleep. And tomorrow you can tell the other me what happened.”

 

Derek glares at him. “You don’t give up, do you? You’re crazy. This stuff you told me about time travel or leaping or whatever the fuck, I knew it was bullshit, alright? But I thought… I mean you did help me… but… I could have been an alpha! Not that I ever wanted to, but it was my only chance of survival. I could have made a new pack. Or at least protected Scott. Now we’re both omegas. You practically killed us. Might as well have pulled the trigger yourself.”

 

“I was hoping Scott would be cured. Then the alpha power would have come to you. Two birds, one stone.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m expecting stones to hit me any moment now – laced with wolfsbane. So, well played.”

 

“I was just trying to…”

 

“Don’t!” Derek interrupts him. “Do us all a favor and stop trying to do _anything_. Just go home.” With that he throws the shovel in huge arc into the woods and runs off, already shifting before he disappears into the darkness.

 

“If you need anything, go and find Stiles.” The shout seems to get swallowed up by the silence at his lips and suddenly Stiles feels very uncomfortable alone out here in the dark. He practically jogs to his Jeep and breathes a sigh of relief when he slides behind the wheel. He never noticed how spooky the preserve is. All the way to the main road into town, he prays that his car won’t break down. That would be the icing on the cake.

 

Although he makes it home without any problems, the proverbial hits the fan as soon as he pulls the front door shut. His father gives him a long lecture about skipping school and hence being out without permission on top of that, never mind after curfew as well. Eventually he’s allowed to go to bed. What stings the most is that his dad didn’t even bother to ask for an explanation. Not that Stiles could have given one but the fact that his father is so convinced that he’d lie anyway hurts like hell.

 

He fucked up. He knows that and he has no idea how to fix it. And even if he did, how would he implement it when he won’t wake up here tomorrow morning? After spending a couple of fruitless hours searching for a solution, he gets back up to write a literal note-to-self. Of course he can’t be sure if it's even possible to do that but can’t think of a reason why it wouldn't be. If he can make changes to the timeline, then a message should be possible.

 

As he’s formulating the message, he wonders if he should hope that it doesn’t survive his next leap. Who wants to wake up to a note saying he was replaced by a time traveler for a day and that the three most important people in his life apart from his dad hate him now? Come to think of it, his dad’s not too happy with him either. Back in bed he hugs his pillow to his chest and allows himself a few tears.

 

For once sleep can’t come soon enough.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

**_ Day 10 _ **

 

When he wakes up, he goes through the by now familiar process of the voice in his head becoming fainter and fainter without any real chance of getting to the bottom of it. What _is_ the fucking point of any of this? He’s so very tired but if he goes back to sleep, he’ll only jump to another day and be just as tired and just as fed up. If he doesn’t make any headway soon, he’ll go crazy from sleep deprivation alone. Does he even actually sleep, ever? It feels like he closes his eyes and then it’s morning again and he has to get through another day somehow.

 

However, getting through it is no longer his only problem. He now knows that he’ll have to be a lot more careful. While he finds it hard to imagine a future worse than his own, there may be a few that are equally bad. One of the things he wants to avoid at all costs is making Derek's life any more difficult and painful than it already was. He has to stop using other universes as laboratories where he can carry out his own personal experiments. He can’t just go around trying to change things to see what works because that’s playing with the lives of other people – people he loves – without any chance of returning it to the status quo or mitigating the consequences or even just to apologize.

 

His phone rings and he grabs it without opening his eyes. “Morning, Dad.”

 

_“Morning. Are you up? You don’t wanna be late for school.”_

 

“Yeah, I’m just on my way into the shower.” Well, it’s almost true since that’s what he’s intending to do.

 

_“Okay. I won’t keep you. See you tonight?”_

 

“Not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”

 

_“Okay. Have a good day.”_

 

“You, too. Be careful out there.”

 

_“Always.”_

 

Stiles smiles. Jumping through time has its advantages after all. His father is no longer angry and disappointed with him because this version of him didn’t catch his offspring skipping school and breaking curfew yesterday. And despite being aware that the reason for that is because this version is _not_ his dad, not really, Stiles always feels better after speaking with him. Nobody is as constant and dependable. But his good mood evaporates instantly when he checks the date. Three days after Boyd was killed by the alpha pack using Derek, who was so devastated he disappeared for a week. It was a terrible time for everyone.

 

In line with his new softly-softly approach, he decides to go to school to find out what the evil twins are up to and then maybe check up on Derek. He’s not going to leave him to the mercies of Ms Blake when he’s so vulnerable – or ever. He’ll tell everyone who the darach is and then find a way to save his dad, Melissa and Chris from being abducted.

 

When he arrives at school with time to spare Scott isn't there yet, but Lydia comes over to his locker – apparently to remind him to vote with her tonight. Stiles just gapes at her.

 

“We had a deal,” she says in a tone that brooks no argument. “ _Pacific Rim_ for _The Notebook_. I did my bit and you won’t like the consequences if you go back on your word.”

 

He holds up his hands in surrender. “No problem. Consider it done. I love _The Notebook_. _The Notebook_ has my full support… and my vote, of course.”

 

There’s a satisfied smile before she sashays away to her class. Stiles is happy to see Allison joining her. It’s always good to see Allison.

 

“Hey, Stiles, can I hitch a ride with you tonight?”

 

For a few moments, Stiles just remains frozen in place then slowly turns around to find Boyd looking at him as he’s closing his locker. He bites his lips to stop himself from saying something inappropriate, like _’Why aren’t you dead?’_ especially when he sees Erica snaking her arm around Boyd’s waist, saying, “Me, too, please? Car’s in the workshop.”

 

Stiles just nods and keeps nodding until they leave for class. Okay, he’s liking this universe so far and even more so when it turns out during the day that they all just hang out together. They grab seats next to each other during classes and share a table at lunch. Isaac and Allison are clearly together, which doesn’t seem to bother Scott all that much and Erica is on Boyd’s lap practically during every break time. It’s a bizarro world of teenage happiness.

 

He looks for the twins but they’re nowhere to be seen. When he asks about them, Scott’s merely confused as he’s never heard of them. Well, that explains Boyd being alive: no alpha pack. And apparently no darach either, because English isn’t taught by Ms Blake but rather by a Mrs. Marcus who somehow manages to weave stories about her wife and their son into every other sentence while talking about _The Heart of Darkness_. Maybe it’s some weird practical demonstration of the unreliable narrator.

 

Stiles needs to find out what changes he made to this past to bring about this turn of events. Which of the things he did over the last few days had this glorious effect?

 

After school he waits in his jeep until Erica and Boyd flounce into the back seat. His surprise that neither of them is calling shotgun only lasts until Isaac opens the passenger door as Stiles is already pulling out of the parking space. The Jeep comes to an abrupt halt.

 

“Very funny, Stilinski,” Isaac scoffs, scrambling into the seat and clearly thinking Stiles was messing with him. Apparently Isaac was expecting him to wait.

 

“You snooze, you lose,” Boyd pipes up.

 

“I wasn’t dawdling. Harris finished class late.” Isaac defends himself with a look at Stiles that's halfway between apology and defiance.

 

“Yeah, he’s an asshole,” Stiles says to cover up how much he’s at sea with this sudden friendliness from all of them. It makes Isaac beam somehow. “So are we going anywhere else on the way to…” He pretends he’s letting the sentence trail because he’s too busy reversing.

 

Boyd gives some sort of grunt while Erica merely shakes her head in the rearview mirror.

 

“Nah, straight to the loft,” Isaac supplies helpfully. “Derek said he’d go shopping today.”

 

Stiles should have been a spy or something. He totally got their destination without giving the slightest indication that he has no clue what he’s doing. He’s awesome.

 

 

 

It seems prudent to let the others go first in case there are any surprises, like entry codes or locked doors, but everything appears as he remembers it. By the looks of it, Derek hasn’t just been shopping but cooking as well, unless the food spread on the big table was delivered from somewhere. Everybody shouts a greeting at Derek emerging from the spiral staircase while diving for plates and cutlery as if they haven’t eaten all day. Stiles follows at a slower pace, giving Derek a long look.

 

Dressed in black jeans and a grey t-shirt that lets some of his chest hair escape at the v-neck, Derek's looking amazing as always. It’s inevitable that Stiles stares at him. Derek seems amused by that and holds his gaze with a smirk, until Stiles blushes and lowers his eyes. Helping himself to a pile of food seems like a good way to pretend that wasn’t awkward. This Derek appears to be aware of Stiles’s attraction to him and evidently feels that mocking Stiles for it is the way to go.

 

Lydia arrives ten minutes later with Allison in tow and both of them seem very much at home here. Stiles takes a seat and decides to just let this evening unfold. It’s strange that in a world where everyone seems happy, or at least content, he seems the most out of his depth. Lydia ends up sitting next to him, explaining that she’s sitting there to make sure there’s ‘no repeat of last time’. Since Stiles has no idea what she’s referring to, the chuckles the others give make him blush again. It must have been something amusing he did – or truly embarrassing, more like. Only Derek's giving her an obviously fake death glare, which Lydia returns with one of her patented ‘you know I’m right’ smiles.

 

When Scott finally arrives after doing some chores for his mother it becomes clear that this is supposed to be some kind of pack meeting. However, even Derek isn’t taking it seriously, simply asking if there’s anything to discuss. Erica asks about the car, which apparently will take another day for repairs, and then they’re all ready to watch a movie and Lydia gets her choice with Stiles’s help. As no one else’s willing to budge from their own ideas two votes carry the day, making everyone groan.

 

Popcorn and sodas are handed out and by the end of the movie the others look as sluggish and tired as Stiles feels. Erica has fallen asleep on Boyd’s lap in the big easy chair. Scott looks spaced out after spending almost the whole movie on his phone playing games. Derek’s idly leafing through the paper. Stiles remembered after ten minutes how much he hates _The Notebook_ but has been holding very still because Lydia is using his knees as a footstool.

 

“Is there anything else?” Allison asks with sideways glance at Isaac who’s trying to look nonchalant and failing miserably. He’s got too much of an excited puppy about him. Those two obviously can’t wait to be alone.

 

“There never was anything to begin with,” Derek drawls in the same bored tone he’s used all evening.

 

It’s true that there weren’t any pressing matters to discuss but Stiles enjoyed the evening immensely. Everyone’s happy and it was just a get-together of friends. He doesn’t remember having many of those before, if any. As far as he can recall whenever the pack met up in his past it was usually because there was some dire and most likely deadly emergency. All through the movie he’s wished he could switch his brain off and just pretend this is his life. After the disaster he left behind yesterday today’s a balm for his soul. It’s great to just sit back, not having to wonder if he should do something.

 

It would be a crying shame to spoil anyone’s mood with his crazy problem. They’d probably think he’s joking anyway with the atmosphere being so upbeat. But he needs a way to tell which of his realities are the same and for that he needs a touchstone in each of them. And that will always be Derek.

 

“Uhm, can I stay a bit longer?” he asks when everyone starts making tracks.

 

Derek gives an amused huff and raises his eyebrows. “No, Stiles, you know how I hate being alone with you.”

 

Among the chuckles and eyerolls of his friends, Stiles stands confused and quite frankly a little hurt, as he watches Derek take the dirty glasses and bottles into the kitchen while the others file out the door with various versions of, “See you later,” thrown over their shoulders. Derek follows Boyd, who’s the last one, to shut the door behind him and locking it. Then he turns and comes over to where Stiles is still rooted to the spot in the middle of the loft. “Jeez, I thought they’d never leave.”

 

Caught off guard, Stiles stumbles a few steps when Derek takes his wrists and gives several sharp tugs so that, as Derek lets himself fall backward onto his bed, Stiles ends up on top of him. Then Derek's warm hands frame his face and pull him into a kiss while his leg winds around Stiles’s ass to keep their bodies fused together. His cock is stirring at the feel of Derek being way ahead of him.

 

Kissing Derek is achingly familiar. He’s done it thousands of times, has loved it since the very first one and misses it fiercely. So after a stunned second he kisses back with all his feelings of love and loss and loneliness and no small amount of relief. He feels ashamed almost immediately as if he’s somehow duping Derek into kissing the wrong person, mixed with feelings of guilt that he’s cheating on _his_ Derek.

 

He lets the kiss carry on because he can’t help himself until it becomes less passionate and starts to taper off. Then Derek moves his leg to release his body and Stiles opens his eyes to find Derek looking at him. God, those eyes! He moves his head back to focus properly as Derek scrutinizes his features, tensing more and more. With slow, deliberate movements Stiles rolls off Derek's body to shuffle up against the headboard.

 

After a few moments, Derek sits up as well, asking without looking at him, “Did I miss the signs?”

 

The barely detectable tremble in his voice makes Stiles ache. “What? What signs?”

 

“Well, yesterday we seemed… okay and today… everything’s changed.” Derek finally looks at him, allowing Stiles to see his dismay – pain even – and Stiles thinks it’s the bravest thing he’s ever done. Because for Derek being vulnerable is harder than being in physical pain.

 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Stiles says quickly, instinctively reaching out but stopping when Derek flinches. “It’s nothing like that. It’s not what it looks like or feels like or whatever. You didn’t miss any signs. Everything’s still fine.”

 

Derek huffs a mirthless laugh. “Of course it is.” He gets up but stays by the side of the bed looking down at him. “You promised me you’d tell me if something’s bothering you. I specifically asked you to let me know when it starts… when you no longer… at the first signs when we still have a chance to… I never thought that you of all people would change without warning. But then again… I never saw it coming before either.”

 

The resignation and self-loathing in Derek's voice breaks Stiles’s heart into a million pieces. Of course, Derek would just accept that anyone he loves will leave or betray him. “No, Derek, really, it’s not like that.” He gets up onto his knees on the bed, stopping short of reaching out again. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love you.”

 

There’s a stunned pause. “You never said that before.”

 

“What? Oh sorry, jumped the gun there a bit. But I’m sure your Stiles feels the same. I’m just here temporarily. I’m time traveling or something. Have I ever mentioned that before on any occasion?”

 

Derek shakes his head mutely, staring at Stiles half in disbelief and half in bewilderment. Great. Yet another reality he needs to navigate. Obviously this happy reality has nothing to do with anything he did. And how could it? The alpha pack didn’t turn up unexpectedly, they announced themselves far in advance rendering any warning Stiles could have given redundant.

 

So he starts talking. He has the whole story down to a condensed script by now. Experience has taught him which parts he needs to elaborate and which he can summarize. It’s one of the many reasons he always chooses Derek to talk to, he knows how Derek will react and how to phrase things to get his trust in the shortest possible time. Another reason is that Derek, as the only born supernatural being he knows, is a lot more open to fantastic ideas than any of his other friends.

 

“So you’re Stiles but from a different time? And a different world?”

 

“Yeah, but please don’t ask me how or why because I don’t fucking know. I’m assuming I’m here to fix things but believe me this reality or world or whatever is the least in need of fixing of all the ones I’ve seen so far. Everyone’s alive and happy. It’s practically paradise.”

 

Derek smiles wanly. “My whole family died in a fire.”

 

Fuck, Stiles really needs to filter what comes out of his mouth. “Yeah, there’s that.”

 

“In _every_ universe?” Derek asks with a wince.

 

“Pretty much. All the ones I’ve come across so far anyway. Sorry, dude.”

 

“Is _my_ Stiles going to be back?”

 

“Oh yes and apparently he won’t remember a thing about today.”

 

“And…” Derek hesitates and ducks his head.

 

It always makes Stiles melt when Derek gets embarrassed. “What?” he encourages, smiling softly.

 

“Are we… together in your universe?” There’s a shy look from under his eyelashes.

 

Oh god, he’s so adorable! This is Scott-level sappiness. “Yes. Yes, we certainly are. It just took us a lot longer to get our heads out of our asses.” He doesn’t feel like mentioning that Derek is also dead. Quite honestly Derek's never looked this happy and carefree in Stiles’s origiality because they became a couple when things had already started going to hell. How could he possibly put a dampener on that?

 

Derek gives a small pleased smile that Stiles can’t help but return. There’s something thrilling about knowing that they end up together in other universes as well. He doesn’t exactly believe in soulmates any longer, not like he did when he had a ten-year plan for making Lydia fall in love with him, which she _had to_ because, you know, _soulmates_. Nowadays he realizes how high his creepiness factor was at the time. No wonder Lydia studiously ignored him for so long. But with Derek it’s different because it’s obviously not one-sided, not in this universe – nor his own – and that somehow makes their relationship stronger.

 

“So now what?” Derek finally asks in a business-like tone.

 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”

 

Derek frowns as only he can. “Please tell me that’s metaphorical. I mean, you look like Stiles but you’re not really. I would never…”

 

“Oh god, you’re so cute in any universe. I would never either. And I’m pretty sure neither would he, meaning the other me. So we’re all on the same page. I meant I’ll tell you anything you want to know about what’s going on in my world and then you can tell me what’s different here. That way you can be forewarned if anything similar happens here and I can maybe work out what I have to do to save people.”

 

They’ve migrated to the kitchen by the time Stiles is finished answering all of Derek's questions. By then Stiles has calmed down with about five cups of coffee from Derek's fancy coffee machine. He realizes for the first time that he hasn’t taken his Adderall since this whole thing began. He weaned himself off his medication when Lydia died in his origiality but since he’s in his old body, shouldn’t he be needing it? Everything about this defies logic.

 

When they’ve progressed to hot chocolate, Derek tells him what’s been happening in his life. Everything seems the same up until the summer after sophomore year. During that time apparently Stationary Stiles helped Derek find Erica and Boyd, who’d run away, the difference being that they found them fairly quickly and persuaded them to return home in time for the start of junior year.

 

As Stiles and Derek got together during that summer, Scott and his ragtag pack also joined the Hale pack if not in name but definitely in spirit. Maybe being such a strong pack deterred the alpha pack or maybe it’s because Scott hasn’t had any occasion to become the True Alpha. So far they haven’t been seen even though it’s way past time for them to make an entrance. There’s also no Jennifer Blake, at least Derek doesn’t think so, but admits that he obviously doesn’t know every teacher at the school. However, as there are no sacrifices there’s a high chance she’s not around. Which makes sense since she was really after the alpha pack. Maybe they’re all out there harassing a different pack.

 

“So do you think Cora might still be alive here as well?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “Difficult to say. Things are _very_ different here, but it’s worth a shot. Maybe you can get word out that you’re looking for her. But all I know is that she was in South America, which in my world is a pretty big place.”

 

Derek punches his arm playfully. “Like it isn’t the same here.”

 

Stiles grins, then sobers. “Could I stay here tonight? I… it’s nice to have someone to talk to. I just feel so alone since this whole damned thing started.”

 

“Sure.”

 

After phone calls to Scott to create a cover story and to his dad, Derek hands Stiles an old t-shirt and shorts which he apparently keeps here for just such occasions as this. Eventually they go to bed, neither of them questioning that they’ll share the space. Derek even puts an arm around him, not quite spooning or cuddling him, but close enough to give comfort.

 

“Thanks,” Stiles says, feeling connected to someone for the first time since he started jumping through time.

 

“No problem.”

 

“When you wake up tomorrow _your_ Stiles will be back.”

 

“Good to know. No offense.”

 

“None taken… You should tell him how you feel, you know, tell him you love him. I mean if you’re ready. He’s just waiting for you to say it. He’s ready. He’s just worried to put pressure on you.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah, I have insider information.”

 

Derek huffs a laugh and Stiles has a feeling this might be one reality where things will be alright. At least he hopes so. He stays awake as long as he can to enjoy being here with Derek but eventually his eyes fall shut and he slips into sleep.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

**_ Day 11 _ **

 

For a few long, delicious and very precious moments Stiles is happy when he wakes up. He feels safe and secure in Derek's arms and everything is as it should be. Then his memory comes crashing down on him but by that time the voice he should be identifying is long gone. His first thought is: _oh shit, I promised Derek that_ his _Stiles would be back this morning._ Then he opens his eyes.

 

The room is large but nowhere near as large as the loft. The ceiling is lower and through the unadorned floor-to-ceiling window front he can see the crowns of trees, lots of trees. One thing’s for sure, he’s never been in this room in his life. He would remember that. It’s stunning.

 

He also feels different from all the other mornings. His mind is clearer, more focused and he doesn’t have to struggle with a sluggish brain. Instead he’s brimming with nervous energy. There’s none of the leaden tiredness but rather the feeling that he might explode if he stays still too long. It startles him and Derek's arm around his chest tightens a little in response.

 

“S’early. Let’s have another half an hour.”

 

Stiles tries to free himself hastily and the uptick in his anxiety makes Derek go from sleepy to wide awake within a fraction of a second. He lets go of Stiles and gets out of bed, donning a pair of sweatpants while Stiles is still looking around with big eyes.

 

“Where the hell am I?”

 

“Stiles?” Derek's eyes look unfocussed for a few seconds as he tilts his head to listen, trying to determine if there’s any unseen danger in the vicinity, before he takes a step towards him. “What’s going on? You’re home. Where else would you be waking up?”

 

“You have no idea,” Stiles murmurs, stepping back instinctively. That slight feeling of guilt as if he’s constantly tricking people into mistaking him for someone who just looks like him is always particularly strong with Derek. What’s happening to him feels a bit like being possessed by the nogitsune, only in this case he’s the one doing the possessing, even if it’s only himself. “Can you give me a moment?”

 

“Sure,” Derek agrees calmly without making any move to also give him some privacy. His eyes remain firmly trained on Stiles, watching, worrying and assessing.

 

Becoming aware that he’s naked, Stiles picks up some underwear and pants off the floor. A look out the window tells him that he’s in the woods, he can even see a familiar path. So… the Hale house? Reconstructed and livable once more? Why not? It’s no crazier than anything else he’s experienced recently. “I need the bathroom.”

 

Derek makes a move sideways as if to get out of the way of the door on the left, which he wasn’t blocking in the first place. It‘s more an invitation to feel free to proceed but it tells Stiles where to go without having to ask or making an embarrassing mistake.

 

When he opens the door he’s faced with a spacious, very light and very clean bathroom with a large round tub and an equally large shower cubicle. To his dismay Derek follows him and stands leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed.

 

“Are you feeling sick? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

 

Stiles whirls around to stare at him. _No! Just no!_ No matter how strange things are in general right now, he refuses to believe that there’s a universe out there where _that_ is possible. Then he sees Derek's smirk. “Asshole!”

 

He takes a piss, washes his hands and brushes his teeth. In the mirror he notices how well he looks considering he has the jitters, a sensation he recognizes from the few times in his life when he overdosed on Adderall and literally didn’t sleep for two days. An overdose would explain the excess energy and the increased anxiety he’s feeling although his pupils look normal.

 

Derek still hasn’t moved and bumps his shoulder as he walks past. It’s not hard or rough, just a friendly ‘hey’ that speaks volumes of their intimacy. Stiles responds by leaning in almost without meaning to just for a few seconds but withdraws before Derek can react. Then he goes to sit on the bed to look at his phone. It seems he’s back in the time of the alpha pack, this time just before Boyd’s death. Hopefully he’s been in this reality before because he’s too wound up to go through all his explanations again. Derek is clearly waiting for one, remaining in the doorway, just pivoting to keep facing him.

 

“I need coffee,” Stiles says and picks up a shirt off the floor. It’s a little too large when he pulls it on, so it’s probably not his. He doesn’t look at Derek as he opens the other door, which leads onto a wide landing. From there it’s just a matter of taking the stairs down two floors and then following the smell of coffee and bacon.

 

In the kitchen he realizes a moment too late that the smell of food means other people – awake and expecting him to interact. But even if he’d made the connection sooner, he wouldn’t have been prepared for this particular person in Derek's kitchen in a million years.

 

“Danny?”

 

“Hey, Stiles. Have a seat. I’ll make you some breakfast. Derek up yet?”

 

“Yeah, he’ll be down in a moment.” Stiles knows that Derek won’t take long to follow him, not when he’s alerted by Stiles’s strange behavior. He watches as Danny adds a large amount of scrambled eggs to the pan and a stack of bacon to the grill. Then Danny also manages to butter some toast and to produce a mug of coffee with just the right amount of milk added for Stiles’s taste as well as a mug for Derek without burning any of the food. It’s almost magical.

 

Derek appears when Stiles is already sitting at the huge table, nursing the second half of his coffee and tapping the mug nervously with his fingernails. The sound he makes seems very loud to him. Great, now he’s annoying himself.

 

It looks like Derek managed to have a shower at light speed leaving his hair a little damp and attractively falling down his forehead. As soon as he's greeted Danny and sat down, the food is set out before both him and Stiles and Danny sits down with a plateful for himself. “You’re up early,” he remarks.

 

Derek grunts an unintelligible reply, shoveling down his food while watching Stiles. Danny looks with a slight worry frown from one to the other but Stiles is distracted by footsteps on the stairs and a pajama-clad teenage girl, whom he’s never seen before in his life - his real one or any other - walking into the room muttering a sleepy, “Morning.”

 

Nobody answers with more than indistinguishable sounds, and she glares at each of them, before she grabs a carton of orange juice from the fridge and makes her way out again, still muttering to herself about how there’s no hot food prepared and no one’s talking to her so she might as well go back to bed. Danny smirks.

 

Stiles stares at her until she disappears up the stairs. Who the fuck was that? Feeling Derek's gaze on him, he starts eating slowly, keeping his eyes on his food. This is the weirdest reality he’s woken up in so far but at least he doesn’t have to wonder if this is his origiality, so he just has to get through this day somehow.

 

Abruptly the quiet house comes to life all at once. There are doors banging upstairs, various morning greetings and footfalls that are way too noisy. Somebody accuses someone else of using up all the toothpaste. Another person asks if anybody’s seen his sneakers.

 

“What d’you need sneakers for?” a familiar voice asks back. “We’re training after breakfast.” Isaac, unmistakably.

 

“Because they’re my sneakers and I want them.”

 

Yeah, Stiles knows that voice as well: Mr. Douchebag himself, Jackson Whittemore. What’s _he_ doing here? Then the kitchen suddenly feels like the school cafeteria, full of teenagers scrambling for food. Jackson grabs the last of the eggs and bacon and starts cooking them, but then surprisingly waits until Lydia appears and pushes the plate in front of her. She smiles her thanks and he beams. He hasn’t changed at all, still entirely focused on approval and praise.

 

Isaac enters and passes out cereal bowls from the cupboard above the sink, some by tossing them at new arrivals. Erica and Boyd turn up hand in hand. The girl from earlier catches one of the flying bowls without looking displaying obvious werewolf reflexes. Boyd calls her Amy when he asks her to pass the sugar – thankfully she refrains from tossing it. Within moments the table is littered with a large array of cereal boxes, milk containers, sugar, bread, butter with and without peanuts, as well as handfuls of cutlery being dropped in the middle with obnoxious clanking for everyone to help themselves.

 

Two more people enter the kitchen. The guy Stiles recognizes with great difficulty as Jared, who used to warm the bench with him during lacrosse. He looks very different without his spectacles and with the addition of a lot of muscle, making him appear at least three inches taller. Stiles wonders if he still gets travel-sick. The girl he also recalls from school. Her name’s Cathy and similar to Erica she’s transformed from shy and unassuming to confident and poised, only not quite as aggressive.

 

If this is the new Hale pack, it’s huge – and loud. What was Derek thinking? Even just breakfast is pandemonium. The clatter of so many people eating. The verbal sparring which sounds friendly enough. The occasional foodstuff thrown at someone. There’s also the huge quantities each of them consumes. Stiles notices now that there are three coffeemakers, which all get emptied and refilled quickly. His mug is topped up without question.

 

“When are we going?” Isaac asks eventually, looking first at Derek, then at Stiles.

 

“We’ve something to sort out first,” Derek says. “You guys run to the lake and then go around it until we’ll meet you there.”

 

The others look at him in surprise but no one asks questions. Within minutes the table is cleared of everything but Derek's and Stiles’s coffee mugs and the dishwasher is filled and activated. With eight people doing the work, the kitchen looks almost untouched as their boisterous voices fade out the front door.

 

Stiles really wants to follow them to get rid of some of that current that seems to run through his veins and prickle under his skin. His foot is tapping the floor and he’s excessively swirling the dregs of his coffee. To his own surprise he manages to keep it in the mug and not spill it all over himself. He’s usually the least coordinated the more wired he is.

 

“I gave you a moment,” Derek points out matter-of-factly. “Several moments, actually. Care to tell me what’s going on with you?”

 

“I’m all edgy.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

“What’s wrong with me? Did I take something last night?”

 

Derek looks at him for a long time, making Stiles almost shaky with impatience, then says evenly, “It’s a side-effect.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“Lycanthropy.”

 

It takes a few moments for the truth to hit home. “I’m a frigging _werewolf_?” He’s so incensed he wants to hit something – or someone. He never wanted this. Well, okay, so he did, kind of. Everyone wants to be batman instead of being Robin all the time. Who wouldn’t want to be stronger and faster and have magical healing powers? He just felt that werewolves had a poor life expectancy nor did he want to risk leaving his dad behind.

 

Derek grabs his wrist to try and stay his hand but it’s a second too late. The mug shatters under Stiles’s clenched fingers and the claws that appear unbidden dig into his own palm. All too quickly a puddle of coffee and blood forms on the table and Derek turns his hand to look at the damage and check for splinters. Stiles watches in fascination as his skin knits together. The cuts and the hot coffee only hurt for a few seconds, the healing doesn’t hurt at all. Neither does retracting his claws.

 

“Wow. That’s…”

 

“…something you’ve been dealing with for six months.” Derek lets go of him. “Now spill.”

 

“Would you believe time-travel?”

 

“Ah.” Derek gets up, wipes the table clean and finds Stiles a new mug, refilling it and his own, before he sits back down. As far as reactions go, it’s pretty calm.

 

“I’ve been here before?”

 

Derek nods. “You came to see me at the train depot. Told me who the kanima was and about some other stuff. An alpha pack, I believe? And more. Don’t you remember?”

 

“I remember. For me it was three days ago.” He enjoys Derek's startled reaction. The guy's altogether too calm right now. It’s disconcerting. “So what happened in the meantime? I told you about the threats that will come for you in the future and you did what exactly?”

 

“Made a bigger pack. Killed Peter – again – when he was still weak. Approached Lydia to tell her she can save Jackson, since you were kind enough to tell me how. Erica knew Amy from the hospital. She had terminal cancer. Jared had severe asthma as you probably remember. Much worse than Scott. And Cathy had scoliosis. It wasn’t hard to persuade any of them.”

 

“And Danny? Danny was never sick.”

 

“He asked.”

 

“How did you get away with it? With the Argents in town?”

 

“I didn’t. There were fights and hunts but we prevailed. There really is strength in numbers. But there were losses, too.”

 

“No offense but the way I remember it, you had trouble controlling the three betas you already had. How did you control so many?”

 

Derek smiles. “I had help.” It’s clear from the way he looks at him that he means Stiles.

 

Stiles frowns. “How did we get together?”

 

“You’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are. It was pretty obvious from what you told me that we were together in the future or will be together or whatever. So I tried to get you to join my pack. Turns out you’re quite susceptible to having attention showered on you.”

 

Well, duh! Stiles is pretty self-aware. There’s a reason he and Scott were practically attached at the hips since kindergarten. They both thrived on the exclusiveness and constant closeness, which was exacerbated when they both lost a parent. Being social outcasts was never a choice but it wasn’t any great hardship either as long as they had each other. This was the reason it hit Stiles so hard when Allison arrived on the scene. In his origiality he pursued Lydia all the harder, especially as she was now actually in his circle a lot more – or rather he in hers – through Allison. But he knows that all anybody had to do was take proper notice of him and he would have been theirs. He was just so starved for intimacy. And it’s not as if he wasn’t eye-fucking with Derek almost from the start. So he was scared of the guy but wasn’t part of that fear exactly because of his attraction? And the fear part of the attraction? If Derek had…

 

“Are you in love with him?” he asks carefully not raising his eyes from his coffee.

 

“No, of course not,” Derek replies entirely deadpan. “I sleep with all my betas. _That’s_ how I keep them in line.”

 

Outraged for the other version of himself, Stiles glowers at Derek. Until Derek reaches out and takes his hand that’s now completely healed and pulls it close enough to kiss the knuckles.

 

“I’m utterly smitten with you. Or him, I should say. I may be the alpha but he’s the backbone of the pack. Because I’m totally aware that I’d be nothing without him. He’s everything… to the pack… and to me. I never told him that before because he’d never let me forget it but I know it and so does he.”

 

And there it is again, this warm feeling that somehow they’re destined to be together. It’s not that they don’t have a choice because it’s predetermined or fate or any of that crap but that they just _fit._ There’s love and passion, as it should be, but there’s also an amazing compatibility. Once they get past everything that’s holding them back, it’s so obvious all of a sudden that it’s hard to remember what took them so long. They complement each other in every way.

 

“I just miss you so damn much,” Stiles sighs. He knows it’s not _this_ Derek he’s missing, strictly speaking, but in _his_ absence, he feels connected to all the other versions. They’re all so alike at the core.

 

Derek squeezes his hand in silence.

 

Eventually Stiles takes a long noisy breath through his nose. “Okay. Now hit me. Why did I take the bite?”

 

It’s hard to listen to Derek's tale despite expecting that it won’t be happy. Stiles has already lost his dad once. Hearing that he was shot by hunters when he became involved in the stand-off between them and the pack is still gut-wrenching. His grief is still too raw. The same goes for Scott, who was killed by hunters in battle. Stiles has to tell himself over and over again that this isn’t his reality. When Stationary Stiles got injured in the same fight that took Scott, Derek refused to let him die. Stiles was too far gone to make the decision for himself but apparently has come to terms with it whatever his initial feelings might have been.

 

It’s a lot to take in so Derek suggests that they join the others by the lake. Ordinarily Stiles isn’t one to combat problems with exhausting his body but he’s still feeling highly strung so he agrees.

 

“Take your shoes off,” Derek says. “Now extend your claws on your feet.”

 

Stiles needs a couple of attempts to follow the instruction. It’s not the shifting he has trouble with, it’s stopping the shift at exactly the right point. But finally they’re off running through the woods, his naked feet surer than they’ve ever been in shoes on any surface. He can’t believe how fast he is. Derek’s setting a brisk pace but Stiles doesn’t feel in any way stretched by it. He wants to go faster so he overtakes Derek and soon they’re in a race. He’s sure Derek's just playing with him and could outrun him easily but it’s great fun nonetheless. There’s no effort involved, no having to force himself to keep going, no desire to reach a goal so he can stop. All he feels is a wild… _exhilaration_.

 

When they come to the lake, they can see the others on the opposite side and set out to catch up. It doesn’t take long. For a little while everyone just joins in the race, then they start shoving and trying to trip each other up and it all deteriorates into a playful scuffle. For the first time Stiles can join the pack in a meaningful way. He’s cautious at first, not used to not having to worry about minor injuries, or even big ones. Likewise he underestimates his unusual strength at first and nearly breaks Isaac’s leg.

 

Stiles and Isaac take a little time out so Isaac can recover and Stiles can apologize. Watching the others carry on with their roughhousing, Stiles is itching to join back in but feels he owes Isaac some attention.

 

“Are you okay?” Isaac asks shaking his leg like a dog trying to rid himself of something stuck to it.

 

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles says quickly. He doesn’t want to spend the day talking about what’s happening to him. When will he ever again have the opportunity to find out what it’s really like to be a werewolf? He’ll never be this fast or this strong and invulnerable again. Today he wants to explore his limits.

 

“It just feels like you’re not yourself.”

 

Stiles turns to him and remembers his earlier conversation with Derek about Stationary Stiles and his role in the pack. He sighs at Isaac’s concerned expression. “I’m not. Remember when I came to the train depot some time ago? When it was just the three of you and Derek?”

 

Isaac’s eyes grow big. “You’re Time-traveling Stiles?”

 

“Yeah, but don’t tell the others. Derek knows. But I just want to have fun today. So can it stay between us?”

 

“In this pack?” Isaac snorts. “I doubt it. But I won’t say anything.”

 

 

 

In the end Stiles gets his wish but Isaac’s prediction comes true as well. It’s not until their barbecue at night after they’ve been out all day that the pack wants to talk to him. Stiles spends the day running, jumping and sparring until finally he’s tired enough to go back to the house willingly. Derek puts them all through their paces, reinforcing techniques, setting goals, and always making sure that Stiles is doing more than anyone. At some point Stiles wolfs out as far as he can just because he couldn’t possibly _not_. It’s a very bizarre experience. He can feel shifting cartilage and sprouting hair and also not. It’s like stretching his muscles but in a very real sense in that the body parts he’s stretching are actually elongating or expanding. There’s definitely a pleasant shiver when he does it just like a good stretch. The betas keep watch while Derek and Stiles run as werewolves but sadly Derek cuts off his attempt at a howl with a sharp cuff to the back of his head. Shifting in broad daylight is bad enough, attracting attention by howling is apparently a step too far.

 

Throughout the day more and more pack members have become aware that this isn’t _their_ Stiles. They’re all familiar with the story of how Stiles came to talk to their alpha when the pack was in its infancy, so it’s not as great a surprise as it could be. To their credit they all wait for the evening meal before they start with the questions. Most of all they want to know what happens to them in Stiles’s origiality. The answer to that one is either ‘I don’t know’ or ‘you’re dead’ in almost all cases. Danny is the sole exception, being alive and well in Stiles’s timeline and still in Beacon Hills, though much less close.

 

Stiles doesn’t have to reiterate what happened to him because they all know and Stiles is grateful for that. It cuts him up every time he has to tell the story of the _Year of Hell_. Derek is attentive and even holds his hand at times. It’s long after midnight when they all go to bed.

 

Stiles wishes his own Derek was here if only because he can’t help wondering what sex is like as a werewolf with all his senses heightened. Immediately he feels guilty for thinking about that and then the loss and sadness hit him like a wave. What if he can never find his way home again? What if he does and nothing’s changed? He burrows under the covers and for once just wants to go to sleep. Maybe tomorrow things will become clearer. It's a vain hope he has every night.

 

Suddenly Derek's warm arm snakes around his waist as he spoons up behind him. “I hope you’ll find your way home,” he says gently. “But at least you learned something today.”

 

“Yeah, being a werewolf’s kind of awesome,” Stiles agrees feeling comforted by the familiar body against his back.

 

“Yes, you didn’t leave anyone in any doubt about that,” Derek chuckles. Then he adds more soberly, “But I meant that now you know that if you need it or want it, you’ll survive the bite.”

 

And suddenly Stiles is wide awake and stays that way for more than three hours mulling it over.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**_ Day 12 _ **

 

The clarity and energy he felt the previous day follow Stiles into the unconsciousness of sleep and make his dreams more vivid. When he wakes up the next day – alone and in his own bed – he can’t remember his dreams as such but there’s one part he _does_ remember, making him sit bolt upright in bed.

 

“Sonofabitch,” he mutters, then louder, “I'm gonna kill you.”

 

The next moment he’s tearing off his pajamas on his way to the shower. His hair is longer again and even the basic grooming he’s performing is testing his patience so he goes without drying and styling.

 

His dad’s in the kitchen, having coffee and reading some files from work. “Good morning, Stiles,” he calls out to him, as he streaks past. There’s a pointed if amused undertone in his voice.

 

“Morning, Dad.” Stiles is already at the front door but decides to turn back to the kitchen, pretending he wants a glass of milk, just so he can see his dad’s frown smooth out. “I’m going to see Scott.”

 

“Of course, you are.” His father smiles and turns back to his reading.

 

Stiles finishes his milk while watching him. There’s no way he’ll ever take this for granted again. He won’t let a day go by without appreciating having his dad around, any version of him. A bitter-sweet smile plays on his lips but he doesn’t have the patience to linger for long so he tells his father to have a good day and is almost by the front door again when he gets a response.

 

“Don’t forget to mow the lawn today!”

 

Ah yes, never forget that his dad can also be really annoying.

 

 

 

It’s a relief to see Scott’s bike chained up outside Deaton’s surgery. On the way over he was contemplating roping in Derek as support but didn’t want to waste time by having to find him first. Scott will do just fine and also has a better rapport with the vet which might come in handy. Stiles skids into the waiting room, ignoring an old lady with her cat and walks right through into the back.

 

Deaton’s in the process of bandaging a dog’s leg and looks up in mild alarm at the intrusion. Stiles stumbles a little and only Scott’s sharpened reflexes save a metal tray covered in instruments from toppling over when Stiles crashes into it. Flailing, Stiles rights himself and rounds on Deaton.

 

“You did this to me!” he says accusingly.

 

Deaton finishes the bandage as if Stiles hasn’t spoken.

 

“What are you talking about?” Scott asks instead, worry lines appearing on his forehead. It remains to be seen if he’s more concerned about his best friend or his employer.

 

Ignoring his friend, Stiles carries on, “Don’t play dumb with me! I know it was you. Because I heard you last night. It was _your_ voice. I mean, I hear you every night, but this time I finally recognized your voice and remembered it when I woke up. It was you! You did this! Now fix it!”

 

“Uhm,” Scott says, looking from Stiles to Deaton and back. Then he stage-whispers, “You dream about Dr. Deaton every night? Dude, that’s…” But he obviously can’t make up his mind what it might mean.

 

“Scott,” Deaton says calmly. “Would you mind putting Buster back into his cage and watching his recovery?”

 

Scott gives Stiles a long look but does as he’s told. As he’s leaving the room with the unconscious dog in his arms, Deaton walks over to the sink to wash his hands. Then he turns to Stiles. “So what seems to be the problem?”

 

“Oh no,” Stiles says just short of blowing a fuse and resorting to violence. “You don’t get to do that. I _know_ you’re the reason I’m bouncing around through time and space. You put a spell on me. And now I’m jumping through time without a clue what I’m doing or supposed to be doing or whatever. Something went obviously humongously wrong. You need to fix it.”

 

Deaton’s wan smile has never been so annoying before. “I cast a spell on you?” His tone implies how ludicrous that idea is. “You do realize I’m a veterinarian, right?”

 

“Veterinarian my ass, you’re an emissary or were until you managed to lose most of the people in your charge. You have magic and you sent me on this trip.”

 

“Magic?” There’s suppressed amusement. Then Deaton changes tack and his demeanor becomes mockingly placating. “Are you feeling alright, Stiles? Would you like to sit down? Let me get you a glass of water.” He walks towards his office but stops in his tracks at Stiles’s next words.

 

“You _unfettered_ me!”

 

For a few moments Deaton keeps his stiffened back to Stiles then he slowly turns around, his eyes steely. “I would never do that.”

 

“Wouldn’t you? Because I know it was you because I hear your voice in my dreams. Every night since I got here. Or rather since I started jumping around time. Because I don’t even know which time this is or if I’ve been here before. But that’s what you say to me, every night, just one word, _Unfettered._ ”

 

“What does that mean?” Scott asks, coming out of the back. Undoubtedly he’s been listening to the whole conversation.

 

“Go back to look after Buster,” Deaton says, his voice harsher than he’s ever sounded, especially when speaking to Scott. “And you come with me.” Deaton pulls Stiles by his upper arm into his office and locks the door. He must know that a couple of doors or even walls won’t prevent Scott from overhearing them so it’s more of a gesture than an effective deterrent.

 

Stiles puts up no resistance because he’s finally going to get some answers. He just glares at Deaton with his arms crossed, waiting for the big reveal.

 

“Are you sure it’s _Unfettered_?”

 

Stiles can’t help the sarcasm now. “No, I just made that up because it’s such a commonly used word. Yes, of course I’m sure. Now, what does it _mean_?”

 

Deaton sighs, tiredly rubs his face and sinks down into his chair behind the desk. “There’s only one way to leave your proper place in the universe and go to a different plain. Now, obviously you can’t physically travel in time because no one’s invented a time machine yet but your consciousness or your mind or... your soul, if you will, can. It’s a very dangerous procedure. I’ve personally never done it. But I heard it can be done. It requires a spell, a lengthy preparation of the subject… the subject needs to be suitable to begin with… very few people have managed it. Which is just as well…”

 

Stiles waits and when there’s nothing more he makes an impatient _Go on_ gesture with one hand. “Get to the _Unfettered_ bit.”

 

Deaton sighs again. “I can’t believe you tricked or coerced me to do this for you. Basically you put the subject in a kind of deep trance almost like a coma and then you cast the spell. _Unfettered_ is exactly what it sounds like. It removes your tether to the here-and-now. You leave your own time and can travel in your mind into any time in your past. Unfortunately nobody’s found a way yet to stop at traveling through time, so you also travel in other directions, other realities. That’s what makes it so dangerous. There’s no telling where you might end up.”

 

“Well, can you send me back?”

 

“Stiles… if I did this to you – and I still highly doubt that – then there’s only one way to get back. First you need to find your own reality, your own timeline, as you may call it. And then you need to pray like hell that your anchor is strong enough to call you back.”

 

“ _Anchor?_ What sort of anchor? I don’t _have_ an anchor. I’m not a werewolf. Why would I have an anchor? Who would be my anchor?”

 

“How would I know? It needs to be someone with a strong emotional connection. A parent, a child, a lover or a very close friend.”

 

Stiles feels his stomach hollow and fear prickle his skin all over his body. He drops heavily into one of the visitor’s chairs. “I’m so fucked.”

 

“Well, you should never have done this,” Deaton says coldly, then a little softer. “It may be possible to return. There are so few cases of successful attempts at this procedure...”

 

“How many?”

 

“Uhm, there are only a dozen or so recorded. You would be number thirteen that I know of.”

 

“Great. Always with the lucky numbers. How many came back?”

 

Deaton doesn’t shy away from his gaze. “One. And she died almost immediately afterwards because it took her decades to get back. We only know how it works through people like you, Unfettered ones, who have popped up from other dimensions and talked about it. Naturally we don’t know if they found their way home because they were from a different place, like you. A lot depends on how strong your connection to your anchor is, it seems.”

 

“You don’t understand!” Stiles wails in despair. “How can I even _have_ an anchor when everyone is _dead_?”

 

 

 

Afterwards Scott drives them to Derek's loft even though his shift isn’t over for another two hours. Deaton told them both to leave, knowing that Scott would have a myriad of questions and not get any work done anyway. But much as Stiles usually looks for allies, today his explanations are sparse, containing not much more than what Scott must have already gleaned from listening in. He stares blindly out the window barely listening to Scott’s confused exclamations and flustered half-sentences.

 

At the loft, they meet Derek and Peter poring over a blue print spread out on the big table.

 

Stiles takes one look at the familiar-looking floor plan and says, “There’s a vent you can climb down from the roof. Then all you have to do is punch through the concrete wall. Just make sure Allison doesn’t turn up to scupper your plans.” Then he wanders over to look out the large window that he’s always loved.

 

“Stiles is time travelling,” Scott says with a strange air of pride, as if this is a great accomplishment.

 

“Time travel?” Peter asks and there’s not a hint of mocking in his voice, just a somewhat worrying alertness.

 

Stiles doesn’t care. On the far left on Main Street, visible from here only by virtue of the loft being so high up, there’s a building that he doesn’t recognize, so this is definitely not his origiality. That’s all he needs to know. And even if it was, he knows now that to return to his own time he needs an anchor, a person so deeply connected to him that they can call him back. There’s just one little problem, a tiny one really, almost negligible, and that’s the fact that he lost everyone he’s ever loved and who loved him. He can only assume that’s the exact reason he undertook this insanity in the first place.

 

His voice is monotone when he says, “Yes, Peter, time travel exists. No, I can’t tell you how. No, I haven’t jumped to anywhere near the time before the fire. Rest assured I will do my damnedest to warn your family if I do. No, I don’t know why I’m here. And no, I don’t know how to get back either. This isn’t even my timeline. I will go to sleep tonight and tomorrow the Stiles you all know and love won’t remember any of this. Now fuck off and leave me alone.”

 

There’s a long silence behind his back and he leans his forehead against the cool glass and closes his eyes. He shouldn’t have come here. He’s no use to Boyd and Cora like this and might even screw up their rescue if the attention shifts to him. He just wants to hole up somewhere and try and come to terms with what he’s learned today. It was just habit, the pull of wanting to be close to Derek that made him come here. But this Derek, like all the other Dereks, isn’t his Derek. It will _never_ be his Derek again because he’ll never find his way home again and his Derek is dead.

 

Suddenly, as if he read Stiles’s mind, Derek is there, standing right next to him in silent support, just looking out of the window with him. Stiles blinks and turns to see the loft empty. He looks at Derek who wordlessly puts one arm around him and pulls him against his chest. And Stiles just… goes to pieces. He’s sobbing with harsh gasping sounds and blabbering incoherently about everything that’s happening to him. It’s all just too much. Derek simply strokes his back and makes a soothing rumbling sound deep in his chest.

 

It’s impossible to tell how long they stand there with Stiles holding on to Derek's shirt with clawing fingers that he couldn’t unclench if he tried. When his tears have run dry, he feels grossed out at his display of emotions and tears or at least feels that Derek should be – which he obviously isn’t because the next moment there are gentle lips against his. The kiss surprises Stiles out of his despair. It’s soft and undemanding, more of a comforting gesture than an expression of emotion. In a sense it makes everything worse.

 

He pulls back slowly. “I’m not Stiles. I mean, I _am_ Stiles but not _your_ Stiles. Which is what I’ve been trying to say.”

 

“Ah, that’s what it was. I couldn’t make it out with all the snot and the bawling.” Derek doesn’t let him go but neither does he try to kiss him again or pull him closer. Instead he looks concerned. “So, do you want to run that by me again? I didn’t understand where you seemed to be telling me that I’m dead and you’re stuck here.”

 

It’s too much. Stiles just can’t. What’s the point of any of it? Deaton made it quite clear that being _Unfettered_ is like a death sentence, the body stays alive until it withers away at some random point without ever regaining consciousness or until the time-traveling part of him is killed. How would anybody know? Only one single person’s ever come back – to die! No matter who their anchor was or how strong a bond they had, nobody’s ever come back successfully. He really is Quantum-leaping because the way he remembers it, Sam Beckett never returned either, just leaped endlessly from life to life. And one day Stiles _will_ inevitably jump back into the nogitsune and never make it out again. It could even be the next jump.

 

Shaking his head he moves out of Derek's arms and goes to lie on the bed. “You need to rescue your betas.”

 

“I will. But I also want to know what’s going on with you.”

 

“I’m time-traveling without a clue. I’m clueless. What else is new? Can we talk about this later?” If he could have just one day to himself, to think and regroup.

 

Derek is looking down on him with his arms crossed. “Okay. I’ll go and get Boyd and Erica and then we’ll sort this out.”

 

“Yeah, we’ll do that.”

 

It’s tempting to go to sleep when he’s alone after Derek briefly kissed him goodbye but that will just mean that he’ll wake up in another situation that will require his attention and interaction. Whereas here he has a few hours to himself to do as he pleases. So he re-locates to one of the big armchairs and puts his feet on the coffee table.

 

 

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there. His mind wandered around in circles to the point of not really thinking about anything but how much he hurts. The only reason he knows he hasn’t dropped off to sleep is because he’s still in the same place when suddenly the alarm goes off. Derek's installed it recently as a safeguard against the alpha pack and must have activated it before he left. It’s loud, much louder than should be necessary for a werewolf, with a flashing light for good measure.

 

Stiles isn’t frightened. The red button to shut off the sound is across the loft on one of the support beams but for a long minute or so he can’t bring himself to get up and go over there. It’s just too much effort. When he finally decides it’s too noisy to ignore, he only gets as far as putting his feet on the floor to get up.

 

The door is flung open with so much force that it crashes against the stopper at the end of the rails and bounces back shut almost crushing the person bursting into the loft. Only werewolf reflexes allow her to slip through without a scratch. The door crashes against the jamb and back to half-open. Stiles finally gets up in sheer surprise when he recognizes her.

 

“Erica.”

 

Erica is fully shifted. The issue they were facing at the time was that the prisoners in the vault had been shut away for some time, never experiencing the moon and their shift during that period. It made both of them almost feral when they escaped. But it should be Cora instead of Erica. He takes an involuntary step back and then another when Erica growls at him.

 

“Shouldn’t you be at the school?” he asks conversationally, pretending hard that he isn’t as shit-scared as he is. “Or you know, dead?”

 

It’s just babbling because it’s pretty obvious that Erica is beyond answering questions or even forming any coherent thoughts. He moves back further away from the prowling werewolf and tries to bring the large table between him and her. Not that a piece of furniture will save him here. No, his rescue would be down to Derek, who comes in at full speed right now and tackles Erica immediately. They’re flying across the loft and skid along the floor on their sides.

 

Stiles winces at the thought of how much the floorboards on bare arms must hurt and retreats into the corner the furthest away from them. Erica tries to break free from Derek's vice-like arm around her middle. She snarls and claws at his skin gouging deep furrows into it. There’s blood everywhere. Derek's growling and flashing his red eyes but eventually he lets go by flinging her against a wall. Without delay he follows her and when she jumps up with a fluidity only werewolves can achieve, he stands in front of her, close enough so she cannot pass him.

 

“Will you shut that off?!” Derek shouts over the blaring alarm, the words distorted by his protruding fangs.

 

Stiles moves from his corner to hit the big red button with his palm and then just stays there. He trusts that Derek will be able to control his beta or at least keep her contained. The silence is interspersed with snarling and growling but an improvement nonetheless. Eventually Stiles walks over and closes the door to avoid any unpleasant surprises. Whatever happened to Boyd? And Cora? Was she even there? Damned multiple universes!

 

It takes two hours for Erica to calm down enough to stop fighting Derek to get to Stiles, and then another hour for her to shift back to her human form. She looks terrible, pale and gaunt, with her clothes stained and torn, but Stiles muses it’s still several steps up from being dead. Derek places her into the big armchair and covers her in a blanket then goes into the kitchenette to make something to eat.

 

Trusting Derek's conviction that Erica no longer poses any danger, Stiles moves a little closer and drops onto the sofa. “Nice to see you, Erica,” he says sarcastically, feeling strange talking to her. The longer people have been dead in his own timeline, the weirder it is when they suddenly appear alive and well.

 

She looks at him with hooded eyes and snarls. There’s an answering growl from the kitchen that even Stiles can hear and he grins at her as she shrink into herself. “So you wanna tell me why you felt like trying to kill me? I mean I know I can be a trifle annoying at times but…”

 

He stops when Derek returns with two plates of sandwiches and two sodas tucked under his arm. Without a word Derek hands a plate and a drink to Erica, who looks up at him adoringly and smiles gratefully when he squeezes her shoulder lightly. “Better?” he asks.

 

Erica nods and ravishes her food like she hasn’t eaten in a while which is probably only too true. Derek meanwhile sits down next to Stiles and hands him the rest of the food. Despite everything Stiles feels hungry but more than that he’s grateful in some indistinct way that goes a lot further than physical well-being. That feeling is only taken up a few notches when Derek puts his arm around his shoulders. It’s like coming home, _every time_.

 

Erica shoots them a dark glance and snorts. “And you wonder why I want to kill you.”

 

“Erica,” Derek admonishes softly.

 

It’s gentler than Stiles has ever heard him and to his surprise Erica meekly ducks her head. “It’s not fair,” she mutters. “He has everything. I had such a crush on him for years and he didn’t even know I existed. And then when I got over it he took you away from me. He's closer to you than your betas are. It’s not fair.”

 

“Erica,” Derek says again. “We’ve talked about this. Stiles is right for me and when you feel better, you’ll remember that.”

 

She nods unconvinced and burrows deeper into her blanket. Stiles tries to get his head around the idea that she’s jealous of him. Nobody’s ever been jealous of him before as far as he knows. He also remembers only too well what it feels like to be jealous and wonders how Stationary Stiles negotiates this particular quirk in his life.

 

Then he remembers something else. “Where’s Boyd?”

 

“We locked him in the boiler room at school. Scott and Isaac are guarding the door. He can’t do any harm in there.”

 

A spike of fear hits Stiles at the memory of this day. “Maybe not but there’s somebody in there with him. One of the teachers and _she_ can harm _him_.”

 

“What?”

 

“Ms Blake. She’s our English teacher and she looks harmless enough but let me tell you she’s evil. And she has no qualms about killing people.”

 

Derek is up off the sofa and by the door in seconds, closely followed by Erica without any discernible sign from her alpha. It must be a pack thing or maybe due to the crush she seems to have on Derek in this universe.

 

Stiles gets up slowly to lock the door and reset the alarm. Erica left one of her sandwiches and he slides it onto his own plate. When he’s finished eating, he hugs himself under the blanket and tries not to despair of his hopeless situation. If Erica had killed him at least he wouldn’t be stuck any longer and yet instinct made him defend himself. He wonders how long it will take until he’ll actively seek out danger. He’s been doing this for nearly two weeks and already he feels worn and frayed from lack of any clear path ahead of him. And that was before he knew he’s doomed to stumble about for the rest of his life.

 

This is the most bliss he can look forward to from now on, a place where he feels safe, where no one bothers him and he can be miserable by himself. Much as he likes being around Derek, the fact that he isn’t the Derek he wants, not to mention that he’ll have to explain himself anew every time, over and over again, makes him want to scream. He’s really no better off than before. In a sense he wishes he hadn’t recognized the voice. At least he had hope before Deaton set him straight.

 

What if he, or rather his body, lives to a ripe old age in some hospital in his future cared for by strangers who suppose him in a vegetative state? He could be jumping through time and space for years, decades even, always meeting friends and loved ones who are just duplicates of the real ones. He will never see _his_ Scott again or _his_ father or _his_ Derek. And at the same time he’ll have to live with _them_ considering _him_ the facsimile, the only difference being that they can just wait for him to go to sleep to have _their_ Stiles back. He, on the other hand, will never be anywhere long enough to make any real connection again.

 

He will live and die alone.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN (1): I would be grateful if somebody could tell me if there was ever any mention after Season 1 that killing the werewolf who bit you can cure you? Was it made clear in canon that it doesn’t work or maybe that it does? Or was it dropped like most of the plot lines never to be mentioned again? I know there was a web series about the cure but it doesn’t mention this particular method. It’s really bugging me now.
> 
>  
> 
> AN (2): I’ve re-arranged the chapters so there are more chapters but I’m posting a bunch of the shorter ones today. Just in case you were wondering why the numbers changed. Or even noticed. :-D

 

**_ Day 15 _ **

 

_“Hello?”_

 

“Is this Laura Hale?”

 

_“Who is this?”_

 

“I asked first.”

 

_“I’m hanging up.”_

 

“Wait! You don’t know me and I don’t really know you except from people talking about you so I feel like I know you when I don’t really but… anyways my name’s Stiles, Stiles Stilinski, and I live in Beacon Hills. I know this sounds crazy but your Uncle Peter's slowly healing himself with his super awesome werewolf powers but being the dick that he is he doesn’t have the patience to wait till it’s done so he’ll try to lure you back here with some enigmatic symbol mumbo-jumbo and when you get here, he’s going to kill you so that your alpha powers can speed up the healing process and… yeah that’s pretty much it.”

 

“…”

 

“Hello? You still there?”

 

_“Are you from the nursing home trying to tell me my uncle’s getting better?”_

 

“What? No! How the hell did you get that from what I just said? Did you hear the words ‘werewolf’, ‘alpha power’ and oh I don’t know maybe the bit where you get _killed_? Let’s try this again, shall we? Veeery slowly. Your uncle, Peter Hale, is _pretending_ to be catatonic when he _isn’t_. He wants to heal faster, so he leaves strange spirally thingies on dead animals to lure you here. Do _not_ trust him! He is _evil_. He wants to _kill_ you! Do not go anywhere near him! In fact don’t even come here! Just stay where you are!”

 

_“Who are you again?”_

 

“Never mind that. I realize that this call may well have the opposite effect of what I’m hoping but if you must come back here, at least be wary of Peter. He _will_ kill you.”

 

 _“You’re crazy. My uncle would never hurt me. We’re_ family _. That means something to us.”_

 

“To you! And Derek! Not to Peter. Believe me, he’s cray-cray, bonkers, deranged, nuts, pure psycho, serial killer, gone-wrong, beyond the pale, a few murders short of sanity, if you catch my drift.”

 

_“… How do you know Derek?”_

 

“Wow. You really are the alpha. Good to know you're looking out for him. But believe me when I tell you that you wouldn’t believe me if I told you how I know him. Listen. I’m trying to do one good deed a day right now. Just one. You’re it today. I’m warning you that your uncle is not what he seems. You don’t have to believe me. Quite frankly, I’m beyond caring, so do or don’t. Just keep what I said in mind and don’t trust him blindly. No harm in a little healthy suspicion, is there? Once you’re looking for it, he won’t be able to fool you.”

 

“…”

 

“The silent treatment, eh? Definitely a family trait. Well, anyways, good luck.”

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

**_ Day 19 _ **

 

Melissa has a large smudge of flour on her cheek reaching all the way into her hair. It gives Stiles an idea of what she might have looked like had she lived to be much older. While that thought makes him a little melancholy, it’s so good to be here with her smiling at him, still suppressing a grin after their earlier mini food fight. They’re in the middle of cleaning the counters in her kitchen after making her special Delgado recipe cookies.

 

Stiles deliberately visited when he knew Scott was at work. He pretended to have forgotten that Scott had picked up an extra shift at Deaton’s – despite the text informing him of that fact on his phone – and talked his way into her kitchen. Melissa always had a soft spot for him when he wasn’t in the middle of getting her son into trouble. He knows that a lot of that was just pity and an instinctual urge to mother him. He was even aware of that when he was younger but it never stopped him from basking in her quite genuine affection.

 

Disappointing Melissa over the years was almost as painful to him as disappointing his father. She was always the maternal figure in his life after his own mother was gone, just as his dad served as the paternal stand-in for Scott after his own dead-beat father finally got his marching orders. Scott even dreamed of their remaining parents getting together so he and Stiles could be real brothers. Stiles was less enthused about that. He loves Melissa, always has, but he’s well aware how grateful he was while growing up that his father didn’t present him with a new partner for many long years. Of course, if there's to be a person to take his mom’s place, Melissa will always be his first choice, too.

 

He has to be very careful not to call her by her first name, as he became accustomed to in the last two years of her life. Despite of how happy it made him when she offered, it took him a long time to actually call her that for the first time. Now he has to be careful not to do it as he’s much younger in this universe.

 

They talked about school and his worries for his dad’s health while they were baking together. Stiles remembers his mother baking and cooking and him ‘helping’ when he was still in single digits. It’s always the smell of freshly baked goods that gets to him.

 

When the last batch is in the oven, their happy talk somehow turns into flicking flour at each other and laughing a lot until the timer tells them that the cookies are done and they start cleaning up.

 

“Is there anything you wanted to talk to me about?” Melissa asks after they’ve sat down at the now clean kitchen table to eat as many of the cookies as they can without throwing up and drinking copious amounts of milk.

 

Stiles chews with both cheeks bulging and shakes his head. No, he didn’t come here to talk. She hasn’t found out yet that Scott’s a werewolf. Come to think of it, he doesn’t even know if Scott really _is_ a werewolf in this universe as Melissa is the only person he’s seen today. He no longer cares about timelines and parallel universes and whether this is his own or not. He can’t get home. There’s no one to call him back and he can’t just live through time to get there because he’s not stationary. So he just tries to avoid doing any harm and does the odd good deed if he can think of something. Other than that, he does what he pleases.

 

Today he felt like spending a day with Melissa. And it was awesome.

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

**_ Day 20  _ **

 

Stiles looks over at Lydia in the passenger seat of his Jeep. He remembers this only too well, how excited he was, how he felt that they were finally getting closer, becoming friends and maybe more if he was lucky. Right now all he can think about is that he doesn’t want her to get hurt.

 

“I’m gonna literally crash the party,” he warns her, driving way too fast. “And by that I mean that I will drive right into the warehouse. So brace yourself for impact and when we’re there, I need you to get Jackson to come back to you.”

 

“And how am I going to accomplish that, Stiles? You may remember that we’re not together anymore. Haven’t been for a while. He doesn’t have any feelings for me anymore.”

 

“Believe me, Lydia, Jackson has feelings for you. You’re the only one who can turn him back from being a kanima. Just concentrate on that and ignore everything else around you.”

 

He shoots her a glance before concentrating on the road again. She looks almost hopeful and he remembers how painful it was to witness how she loved a monster more than him. He sighs. “You can do this!” he says with conviction because she already did it once.

 

They’re a little early, only by a few minutes and very much by his design. It adds a little uncertainty factor to the scenario but he’ll deal with it when he gets to that. Right now he follows the path he did then, driving the jeep right through the wall of the abandoned warehouse. The screech of metal on metal and the boom when the large piece of wall crashes to the floor stops everyone inside in their tracks.

 

Luck's on his side and he manages to hit Jackson just like last time, although much harder, and send him flying again. Keeping his eyes open this time obviously helped. He barely gives Lydia a glance as she undoes her seat belt and scrambles out of the jeep towards the kanima without hesitation. Stiles grabs his baseball bat and dashes in the other direction, ignoring Scott gaping at him and hitting his bat at full force against Gerard Argent’s chest, felling him like a tree. There’s a nasty crunch as the old man’s head hits the concrete but Stiles doesn’t care. It feels good to finally get his revenge.

 

“Stiles, what the…?” Scott starts but Stiles glares wildly at him.

 

“If you ever, _ever_ try and use Derek for your plans again I swear to god, Scotty, it'll be the end of our friendship. What were you thinking?” He goes to his knees in front of Derek and puts his arms around him to hold him up. “I’ve got you, Derek. I’ve got you.”

 

And Derek sighs almost inaudibly, just for a split second, his head dropping against Stiles’s shoulder. “Isaac,” he says then looking around worriedly for his beta.

 

“Don’t worry, everyone will stop being insane in a minute.” Stiles glances around and sees Allison let go of Isaac and going to see to her grandfather, although she doesn’t look very concerned.

 

Scott’s looking at Stiles in confusion then follows Allison with his eyes. At the far end of the warehouse Lydia and a naked Jackson are hugging it out and he feels sorry for them because their joy of being back together will only last until his parents drag him off to England. Isaac’s coming over to assist Derek but is obviously at a loss what to do with Stiles still holding Derek in his arms.

 

“Why are you hugging me?” Derek asks a little gruffly to cover his earlier moment of weakness.

 

“Because you were gonna fall over otherwise, you dumbass.” Stiles grins at him. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

 

Derek grumbles something but he’s already fighting off the effects of the kanima poison. Isaac lifts him up on his feet to prop him up against one of the walls and pushes Scott’s attempt to help firmly away to stand guard in front his alpha until he’s fully recovered.

 

“I had it all planned out,” Scott hisses at Stiles, pulling him to one side.

 

“Yes, I know,” Stiles scoffs. “Work with Gerard. Fill him up with wolfsbane. Get Derek to bite him and be the hero so Allison will see the error of her ways and fall back into your arms. That plan sucked.”

 

Scott looks around. “And breaking Gerard’s skull was a better plan?”

 

“No, that was revenge for beating the shit out of me.”

 

“You could have killed him.”

 

“And you didn’t plan on doing the same? You had no idea what the bite would do to Gerard. You had no consideration for Derek and Isaac. Wake up, Scott! Life isn’t about you and your girlfriend alone. There are other people and you’re totally out of your depth. Take some advice. And not from Deaton. Ask someone who knows, like, oh, I don’t know… maybe Derek?”

 

In the distance he can hear sirens. Allison has called an ambulance for her grandfather and Stiles beckons Lydia – and by necessity Jackson – to get back into the jeep. Derek's operating more or less under his own steam by now and he and Isaac disappear through one of the side doors.

 

“Scott!” Stiles calls out from behind the wheel. “We gotta go.”

 

“I’m staying with Allison,” Scott says stubbornly.

 

Stiles shrugs. He can’t fix everything and his main objective, which was to stop Derek from being used, has been achieved. He doesn’t really care about much more than that right now. He drops Lydia and Jackson off at the Martin house and spends another half an hour driving out to the preserve to burn his bat. There’s no way he’ll leave incriminating evidence that’ll implicate Stationary Stiles in a crime.

 

While he’s watching the flames, he texts Derek: _If any1 asks, u + Isaac were @ my house from 8 - midnight playing Final Fantasy. Ask Isaac what that is, u culturally challenged cretin_

 

When he gets home, the light’s still on in his bedroom, like it so often is when he anticipates needing an alibi for his father. Mrs. Wharton, who can see his window from her living room, has a habit of regularly checking up on what her neighbors are doing. As she can’t see the front of their house and so doesn’t know if his Jeep’s there or not, she’ll tell his dad that Stiles was in his room all night if asked.

 

He looks at his phone when it pings. It’s a text from Derek or rather from Isaac using Derek's phone: _D says he knows FF and kicked ur ass all night. PS he’s impressed u know the word cretin_

 

Stiles grins. This is a good day. He’s been carrying his rage for what Gerard did to him, not just physically but also to his confidence, for such a long time that it’s a relief to finally pay him back. This may not be the same Gerard who beat him up, but it doesn’t matter. Stiles finally came out on top in a confrontation. He hopes the Stiles of this universe will feel just as good about it even if he didn’t do it himself.

 

He texts back: _I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship._ Then he switches his phone off and goes to sleep.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

**_ Day 22 _ **

 

Stiles looks at the veranda roof and decides against trying to climb it. When he was younger he often did, in case Melissa was home and objected to his late night visits. Inevitably he just as often fell off or ended up dangling from it, but that’s another matter altogether. It’s Melissa’s fault really. Parents never understand how vitally important it is for teenagers to see their friends right this moment, not the next day.

 

There’s really no need for stealth. He knows Melissa's working the graveyard shift because he could never forget this night. So he enters the house with his key, of which he seems to have a copy in every universe. It’s kind of reassuring.

 

Despite his civilized entrance, Scott still greets him with a baseball bat in his hands. “What are you doing here?”

 

“What are _you_ doing? Do you really think a burglar would use the front door and a key?”

 

Scott looks a bit sheepish and stores the bat behind the door. “Just a precaution. I was just going to bed.”

 

“But Scotty, it’s our last day of freedom. Tomorrow school starts.”

 

Scott grins and takes the stairs two at a time, closely followed by Stiles. There’s always time to play some games. “I really wanted an early night,” Scott says as he’s unwinding the lead from the second controller. “I’m gonna make first line this year.”

 

“Well, it’s always good to have a dream.” Stiles drops onto the end of the bed and takes the proffered controller. Then he pauses and says against his better judgment but with as much sincerity as he can considering Scott’s asthma and general lack of athletic prowess, “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t. You have strength of will. Everything else’s just practice.” He keeps looking at the screen because if he doesn’t say this as casually as possible his words will seem like sarcasm. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Scott gape at him.

 

“Alright, who are you and what have you done with Stiles?”

 

For a moment he panics, wondering how Scott managed to work it out. Then he sees his friend’s grin and returns it with relief. “Scott, my man, you’re my bro. No matter what, I’ll support you. You wanna be first line, we’ll get you to first line. Because you’re awesome. Why else would I be hanging with you?”

 

Scott smiles softly, plops down next to him and bumps his shoulder. “You, too, dude. Let’s play.”

 

Stiles stays for a couple of hours but his game’s off. Normally he has no problem beating Scott because he gets way more obsessed with gaming and spends vastly more time practicing – usually when he should be doing something else. But today his mind is wandering, through the preserve, in fact. He counts down every moment: _right now we were reaching the woods, now we were hiding, now Dad caught me, now I was stuck in the back of his police cruiser for two hours…_ It’s distracting.

 

On the way home he wonders if he did the right thing. He always felt guilty because no matter how you look at it Scott getting bitten was his fault and he couldn’t resist changing that as soon as he realized what day it is. Tomorrow Scott will meet Allison for the first time. Will they fall in love? Well, it’s a given that Scott will but will Allison if Scott’s just an ordinary kid? Stiles hopes so. They were so smitten with each other that it seems more than likely and maybe this way they can be happy and be teenagers a little longer.

 

He hopes Stationary Stiles will be happy, too. This morning he left a note at the Hale house, well hidden from sight but not for a werewolf with all his senses on high alert. Derek will have known within seconds that his home’s been disturbed and find the message just as quickly. It simply said to find the sheriff’s son if he needs anything. Curiosity will ensure that Derek at least tries to find out who Stiles is. If they’re meant to be together, everything will follow from there.

 

Stiles doesn’t interfere much any longer but somehow the idea that Derek and Stiles may never meet in this universe because of his decision to give Scott a shot at a normal life was utterly intolerable.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

**_ Day 25 _ **

 

Coming home from school, Stiles is unsurprised to find Derek in his bedroom. He knows exactly what day this is, has been looking forward to this afternoon all day. Last time he was unprepared. This time he’s ready.

 

Derek frowns at him when Stiles enters the room, looks straight at him and grins. “Hey…”

 

“Stiles?”

 

Ah yes, he forgot the bit where his dad turned up. He holds up one finger to Derek for him to wait and keep quiet which makes Derek frown even more. Then he goes outside to have an awkward talk with his dad about being first line. To be on the safe side he doesn’t change anything of the conversation. The last thing he needs is his father getting suspicious and discovering Derek Hale in his bedroom. That probably wouldn’t end well.

 

He waits until his dad’s downstairs getting ready to leave before he goes back inside to let Derek push him against the door and try to intimidate him.

 

“What like: hey Dad, Derek Hale’s in my room. Bring your gun?” He loves that line. That was definitely one of his better ones especially in view of the fact that he was so very scared at the time. Yes, his father had a gun and could do Derek some harm, if not as much as he’d think. But Derek would still be fast enough to slice his throat and flee through the window before his dad made it up the stairs and all the guns in the world wouldn’t help Stiles then.

 

Today his heart pounds for another reason. This was it. This was where it all began to change. The start of their prolonged and protracted foreplay that only ended when times were already much too dire. They wasted so much precious time. How much they could have accomplished – or prevented – if they’d gotten together sooner. One of his biggest regrets has been that he never had the chance to really enjoy his time with Derek because they hesitated until Stiles’s life was broken and Derek died before it could mend.

 

Derek is obviously stumped for words but doesn’t want to admit it. Stiles is as triumphantly amused about it as he was the first time around. When Derek huffily straightens his jacket, Stiles makes a grab for Derek's leather jacket in turn, leaning forward and says, “I _so_ wanna kiss you right now.”

 

There’s a shocked pause before Derek pushes him away, making him hit the door again. “What the fuck?” he exclaims.

 

“Oh, come on, buddy,” Stiles smiles. “You were looking at my lips.”

 

“What? No, I wasn’t. And if I was, it was because I expected some more verbal crap.”

 

“Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, pal.” Stiles walks past him to his desk.

 

It takes a while for Derek to follow him and stand over him with his tried and tested method of invading personal spaces and glaring with his arms crossed. “Why did you say that just now?”

 

Stiles grins up at him from where he’s flouncing in his chair. “I know you’re emotionally constipated but even you must know what that means. Unless you were raised by wolves that is… oh wait…”

 

Derek seems so out of his depth it’s funny but Stiles takes pity on him. “Maybe I like you, okay? But if you don’t that’s fine, too. It happens. No big deal. I apologize. Forget I ever said anything. I will never mention it again. But if you find you like me, too, just do me a favor and don’t wait forever to act on it.”

 

Derek finally finds his footing and snorts. “You think I'd like a snot-nosed teenager with the coordination of a new-born giraffe? You’re a _kid_.”

 

“So… not a giraffe then.”

 

Derek's face scrunches up as he tries to parse that remark. “What?”

 

“Baby giraffes are calves, not kids.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes. “I meant you’re a teenager.”

 

“And once you’ve gotten over that, come and talk to me and we can carry this further.”

 

“Yeah, don’t hold your breath.” It’s testament to how affected he is that Derek wordlessly finds a seat at the back of the room and picks up a book to pretend to be reading.

 

Stiles is amused and a little disappointed. Ah well, it was fun while it lasted. He’ll make sure that he’ll be playing lacrosse tonight as he missed out last time. That shouldn’t be too difficult. He doesn’t need to waste time to go to the nursing home. Swiveling idly back and forth in his chair he tells Derek that Peter is the alpha and is met with incredulity at first, then with a long period of contemplation. He concocts a story about how he worked out it’s Peter by the fact that he sent messages from Melissa McCall’s computer station and even pretends to have found that out by himself. He’s not averse to messing with Derek a little but he’s no longer willing to use him – or rather his body – to sway Danny’s refusal to help. There are limits to what he’ll put Derek through.

 

In the end he misses his lacrosse game anyway. Once Derek’s accepted that his uncle isn’t what he seems he’s determined to confront Peter and there’s no way Stiles will let him go alone. Derek would probably get himself killed. Luckily Peter’s gone by the time they get to the nursing home. They spend a couple of hours driving around searching for him without success until Derek says he wants to see if he can track him in the woods.

 

“Don’t trust him,” Stiles says. “He killed your sister.”

 

“I want to hear his side if it’s all the same to you. He’s family.”

 

“He’s the alpha _because he killed Laura_ , who was also _family_. He’s evil and manipulative. I know you don’t want to hear this and you won’t believe me but Peter can’t be trusted.”

 

Derek looks at him and shakes his head. “And who should I trust in your opinion? The hunters who killed my family? Scott who’s siding with them? You who’s his best friend?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “I haven’t turned your fugitive ass in yet even though my dad’s the sheriff.”

 

“Because you’re worried about Scott getting exposed.”

 

“Because I’m worried about you, you blockhead.”

 

Derek just huffs incredulously and opens the car door. Stiles puts his hand out to stop him but takes it off immediately at Derek's glare. “Come back to my house if you need shelter tonight.”

 

Derek hesitates for just a second too long then he disappears through the trees without a word. Stiles doesn’t wait around because he’s training himself not to care any longer about the endless procession of Dereks and other people he encounters every day. They’re not his problem and he can’t save them all or even just himself. He tries to nudge something in the right direction each day. Nothing too big, just a little heads-up for his friends and hopes it’ll make things easier for them. He hasn’t told anyone he’s time traveling since he realized it’s permanent. It's too upsetting especially given how pointless it is.

 

It’s too late now to go to the lacrosse game so he goes home to play some more video games and ignores his phone, which slowly accumulates missed calls and texts asking where he is. Eventually he goes to bed. Let Stationary Stiles deal with his dad and Scott tomorrow. However, before he drifts off, he gets up once more to unlock his window.

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**_ Day 29 _ **

 

He wakes up in complete darkness on a very hard surface. Never before has he experienced such a complete absence of light. Normally the general light pollution illuminates everything in town to some degree even in the darkest night but his eyes don’t adapt to the blackness in here at all. Nor can he hear any sound. At all. There should be something, a distant car, a faint voice, the wind or even just the constant humming of electrical appliances, but there’s nothing.

 

It’s cold enough for him to start shivering immediately and the air is thin and stale, smelling musty and a little damp. He lifts one hand to get some kind of bearing and hits the back of it against a ceiling mere inches above him. Reeling back he tries his left side and meets a wall there almost right next to him. With his breath becoming rapid and shallow already, he tries to calm himself down. Turning his palm against the obstacle, he feels over the smooth surface. It’s wood covered in a thin smooth fabric. He presses both hands against the ceiling, which is made of the same material, and pushes to no avail before he starts thrashing around in a panic, hitting walls on all sides. He’s in a wooden box. A box that holds his body and not much more, just like… a coffin.

 

Now he has difficulty breathing and it’s not the stuffy air causing it. He’s not ordinarily claustrophobic but he dares anyone to remain calm when they find themselves apparently buried alive. His wheezing sounds strange in the confined space, which is too small to create an echo and seems to suck up any sounds like a black hole.

 

 _Don’t panic! Don’t panic! You’ll use up all the air!_  It’s no use. The idea of running out of oxygen just makes it worse. Within a minute he’s in the middle of a full blown panic attack with no one around to talk him through it. During previous incidents he’s been trying to tell himself that his fear is caused by anxiety and not rooted in reality but he can’t fool himself into thinking that now. All his skin pores seem to open at once to bathe him in a layer of cold sweat. Nausea hits him and all he can think is that he’s going to choke on his own vomit because there’s not enough room to turn around.

 

How do you stop a panic attack when it’s warranted, when the fear you feel is based on a real and present danger?

 

In the end he can do nothing but ride it out like he would if the threat was just in his mind. The thing with panic attacks is that they make him feel fear where there’s no reason for it which doesn’t make the feeling any less real. So conversely it doesn’t really matter if the danger is real or just perceived. He always has to tell himself that it’s just his anxiety causing it even when he doesn’t believe it. He just says it over and over again until he  _does_  believe it. So eventually it works in this situation as well. Only this time there’s no relief when it’s over. His breathing may somewhat even out but the fear remains because he finds himself in the same terrible situation when his wheezing subsides.

 

His whole body hurts from thrashing against the wood. Somehow he imagines he can feel the weight of the earth on top of him, all six feet of it. This can’t be happening! He bangs on the wood above him and shouts for help for what feels like an eternity until he trails off just feebly yelling for his dad.

 

Deep down he knows that no one will come. If anyone could hear him they would have come for him by now. He’s buried because the Stiles in this time and place is dead. That’s why it’s called dead and buried. He’s too far underground to be heard and that also explains why he can’t hear anything and why the darkness is so impenetrable.

 

He feels dizzy although he’s lying down and after a while it becomes harder to think straight. He touches his head in an unconscious gesture and thinks,  _oh buzzcut_ , but not much else. He’s breathing fast again now but the expected panic attack holds off. After a while he can’t work out where he is any longer or how he got here. His heartbeat is overly loud and rapid even over the roaring of blood in his ears. He can barely make out his very pronounced panting.

 

His last coherent thought is,  _of course, lack of oxygen._ Then he sees his dad and Scott and finally Derek, each of them looking at him accusingly. They’re all in the loft for some reason and they think it – whatever  _it_  might be – is all his fault, as usual.

 

“I’m sorry,” he wants to say with no idea what he’s sorry for, only the feeling that his apology is woefully inadequate. But no words come out.

 

He notices Deaton in the corner, asking him how he likes being  _Unfettered_ , his voice strangely echoing so the word is repeated over and over, not fading in the slightest. Then he catches a glimpse of his mother, as she also walks into the loft like she belongs there and he hears Derek saying his name, desperately trying to attract his attention. Yeah, fat chance of that when his mom’s here. And then his vision and his mind go hazy...

 

 

 

 

… until he can feel strong arms around his torso pulling him tight against a broad chest. His throat hurts but he doesn't stop screaming, desperately trying to escape his confines with his legs suddenly able to kick out violently.

 

“Sshh, it’s alright. You’re alright. I got you, son. It was just a dream. Sshh… I’m here. I got you. Wake up. It’s just a dream. You’re safe. You’re home.”

 

His father’s voice sounds broken but firm. No matter how upset he is he’ll always be there for Stiles. Right now, he’s grabbed Stiles from behind, struggling to calm him down as Stiles becomes gradually aware that he’s in his bedroom on his bed. His breathing is labored but he slowly calms down enough for his dad to loosen his grip. Stiles’s eyes dart all over the room. There’s no danger here and no coffin around him. The sun on his body tells him it’s early in the day because his window only catches direct sunlight in the morning.

 

A dream. It must have been a dream. There’s no way he would have jumped into himself when he’s dead. How would that even work? His stationary body would decompose, he wouldn’t be able to move or breathe – which, fair enough, he had trouble with the latter.  _Please, let it have been a dream!_  Otherwise he’ll fear every night not only that he might jump into the nogitsune but also into his dead body. Falling asleep is scary enough as it is.

 

Why would he be dead? On the other hand, why  _wouldn’t_  he be dead? He had so many brushes with death after Scott got bitten that it’s a miracle that he survived especially as a mere human. But no, he refuses to believe that it was more than a bad dream. He just can’t cope with any other thought.

 

“I’m alright now,” he says in a slightly croaky voice. “It was just a nightmare.”

 

His dad breathes a sigh of relief right next to his ear and for a few moments rubs his stomach soothingly, a gesture his mother always used to comfort him. “Wanna talk about it? You haven’t had a bad one like this in ages.”

 

“I dreamed I was buried alive.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

Stiles doesn’t need to see his father’s wince to know it’s there. He wiggles a bit and his dad lets go, leaving Stiles to put some distance between them and lean against the wall. “It felt so real.”

 

The sheriff is already in his uniform ready for his shift. “Do you know what brought it on? Anything happen in school or with Scott?”

 

“Not really. Probably just a random thing. I’m okay now.”

 

“Uh-huh.” His dad doesn’t sound too convinced but also doesn’t probe. He gave up fathoming out his son ages ago.

 

With a sudden vehemence Stiles misses his mother. He knows he'd tell her about what’s happening to him and she’d believe him but it’s just too much effort to try and convince his father. And for what? So that he can do it all over again tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that? Despite his frequent lies and evasions during his adolescence, the occasions when he did tell the truth and was met with disbelief always hurt like hell.

 

After his father’s left for work, Stiles checks the date. It doesn’t appear to be a momentous day but he hasn’t memorized the exact dates of everything that happened in his previous life. It’s around the time that Scott got his tattoo, probably just before. But it’s Saturday so there’s no rush for anything. There’s no text from Scott yet so he’s probably not awake yet. Stiles can’t help but envy him. He wishes he could go back to sleep.

 

Instead he sits for over an hour nursing the coffee his dad brought up for him, thinking about what happened. Every day he spends a little time counting how long he’s been doing this. He meticulously distinguishes between each day, turning it into a mantra.  _One: Lydia’s funeral. Two: telling Derek who the alpha is. Three…_ Today he doesn’t know what to do. Does he count waking up in a coffin as a jump? Or does he dismiss it as a dream? Is this Day 29 or 30? Does it matter? Ever since he realized that he has no way back, he’s just been drifting aimlessly anyway.

 

There’s a certain freedom in knowing that no matter what you do, it won’t have the slightest influence on your future. Derek was right when he suggested Stiles could do whatever he wanted. He’s tried it over the last two-and-a-bit weeks since the day he calls simply  _Unfettered_  a.k.a.  _Twelve: finding out there’s no way back._ He’s been playing video games when he should be at school. He’s told certain teachers what he thinks of them and then skipped detention. He’s flirted with Derek. He’s taken a baseball bat to Gerard  _and_  to Kate’s car. He's ‘borrowed’ Derek's car keys and drove the Camaro for a few hours. He’s spent a day with Melissa learning how to make cookies. He’s taken a picnic to the Hale house before they were anywhere near friends and spent the day with a very suspicious Derek, who took over two hours to even take a bite of the offered food. He’s warned Laura about her uncle. He's stopped Scott from getting bitten. He's gone on patrol with his dad on three different occasions as well as scraping together his pocket money and taking him for a three-course meal at the fanciest restaurant in Beacon Hills.

 

He tries not to do any harm but he doesn’t care much about anything else anymore. What would be the point? Everything is fleeting. There are no consequences and no permanence, not for him. What he had in his previous life is lost forever and he can’t build anything new, he can’t keep anything from one day to the next, he’s deceiving everyone all the time, and he’s too disheartened to even try and explain anything.

 

He has a lot of thoughts about the ins and outs of time travel. Sometimes he notices some small or not so small differences and sometimes things are so similar that he wonders if he’s actually in his origiality this time. But if he were in his own timeline, wouldn't he remember blackouts that lasted whole days? How does a change in the past affect his memory? Will it just become reality for him so he’ll forget what happened before? Does that mean that if by some fluke he manages to fix what went wrong in his life, he'll no longer remember how awful it was and wonder why he ever did this in the first place? Will that mean that he’ll never start this, the classic time paradox?

 

It becomes ever more complicated and unknowable the longer it goes on. The only thing he knows for sure is that it  _can’t_  –  _go on_ , that is. If he ever jumps into the demon again he’ll go crazy but if he ends up buried ever again it’ll be worse. He has to do  _some_ thing.  _Anything_. It needs to stop. This is no way to live. There’s got to be a way out. Well, there’s always the last resort of ending it deliberately but he can’t help but wonder what would happen to the version of himself he inhabits at the time. If he doesn’t feel entitled to screw up Stationary Stiles’s life too much, he certainly doesn’t feel he can rob him of it altogether. There’s got to be a better way! And now he has the new fear of what would happen if he really did jump into a universe where Stationary Stiles is dead. There are so many possibilities his imagination can conjure up, all of them terrifying.

 

Determinedly he gets up but when he stands over the toilet he catches a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror – and promptly wets the floor when he turns to get a better look. “Fuuuck meee,” he hisses, stepping carefully over the puddle and up to the sink. There are three parallel scars starting just under his ear and reaching along his jawline all the way to his chin. They’re healed welts, obviously older but must have been very deep to have remained so prominent. Stiles hasn’t the slightest doubt that they were caused by werewolf claws. Someone was trying to kill or main him, barely missing out on both, a little lower and they’d have opened his carotid artery, a little deeper and half his cheek would have been gone.

 

After a long shower and a clean-up of the bathroom, he makes his way over to Scott’s house. It’s past the time when it’s considered bad bro-conduct to disturb each other as mutually agreed upon by both of them since long before they started high school. It’s unclear what time actually separates good bro-conduct from bad but it’s somewhere around the eleven o’clock mark.

 

The house gives off a strangely quiet vibe when he knocks as if it’s deserted. When there’s no answer, he tries the door handle and finally his duplicate key – which doesn’t work. He knocks louder and tries to peer through the curtains on the door.

 

When he’s moved on to the windows and is just about to climb up onto the porch roof to get to Scott’s room, the door opens. Melissa’s hair is in a mess and she’s wearing a bathrobe. “Stiles? What are you doing here?”

 

“Uhm? Looking for Scott?” he smiles winningly. “Did I wake you?”

 

Her face remains stony. “Yes, thanks. I’m on nights. Didn’t Scott tell you? He went a day early this month.”

 

There’s something in her eyes or maybe in her voice that makes Stiles hesitate. He has the distinct impression that wherever Scott has gone early isn't good news. His mind draws a complete blank where that could be, but the way Melissa glares at him doesn’t bode well, so he thinks that maybe he shouldn’t ask or make a joke. It doesn’t seem like she’s simply annoyed that he woke her up.

 

A moment later his hunch is confirmed when she shuts the door rather forcefully without any goodbye. She doesn’t like him. He’s had times in his life when Melissa was less than pleased with him but he never got the impression that it was more than exasperation about whatever trouble he’d gotten Scott into this time. It was never because she disliked him as a person. It hurts like fuck. For a few minutes he simply stares at the closed door hoping she’ll come back out and apologize or just speak to him without anger before he slowly walks back to his Jeep. Somebody really messed up here. No guesses necessary as to who that may have been.

 

There’s no question where he’s going to go next. There are only three people he seeks out constantly, his father if he doesn’t see him at home, Scott if there’s no school and Derek, always Derek.

 

His car takes a few attempts to start and he smiles grimly to himself because for once being gone again soon is an advantage: it won’t be him who has to foot the bill for the repairs. Of course, he'd gladly pay for the car if it meant he could go home. 

 

When Derek bought the loft, he lived in several places at once for a while. The closest of them is the train depot so he checks that first but finds it deserted. Instead of doubling back to the loft he carries on to the preserve. If Derek no longer lives at the Hale house, then it will be obviously abandoned but if he lives at the loft now, getting no answer may just mean that he’s out. So he’ll eliminate the easy option first.

 

He gets to about a mile and a half from the house when his Jeep cuts out. The engine just dies and the car rolls to a soft stop. “What the fuck now?” Several attempts to re-start come to nothing, not the tiniest sound to show that Roscoe is at least trying to cooperate. This is really shaping up to be a crap day. Grumbling under his breath that he’ll kick some serious alien butt if this turns out to be an X-Files-type universe, he gets out and starts walking. He’ll just take a quick look to see if Derek is here and if he isn’t, he’ll call the mechanic from near the house and by the time he gets back to the car, the tow truck will have arrived.

 

The path to the house is winding so he cuts through the woods where he can take a straight line. He’s been here so many times, there’s really no danger of getting lost in broad daylight in summer. However, after a few minutes he starts feeling uncomfortable without being able to tell why exactly. His spidey-sense tingling? Someone watching him? Despite being vigilant he doesn’t see or hear anything until he’s suddenly wrestled to the ground. All the air escapes his lungs as he lands on his back with a body on top of him, preventing him from uttering any embarrassing sounds. Which is just as well when he recognizes his ‘attacker’ as none other than Derek.

 

Derek’s sporting his best mountain man look. His hair is longish and tousled from the tackle or maybe from lack of a comb and he’s got a bushy if somewhat groomed beard. He’s sitting on Stiles’s stomach holding his hands down by the wrists. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hisses, his eyes glowing blue. There’s no other sign of how riled up he is – yet.

 

“Looking for you obviously,” Stiles wheezes trying to draw adequate breath. Immediately the weight on him shifts a little to no longer push down on him. “Do you think you could get off me now? Or are you enjoying yourself too much?”

 

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it, you little bitch.”

 

Stiles blinks rapidly, momentarily speechless. This situation is so clearly sexual that he doesn’t even need Derek's slight shift backwards to wiggle his ass on Stiles's crotch a couple times to be certain. “Uhm…” What can he say? Even when they were together sexual innuendos usually came with obvious sexual situations or the intention of creating one or, if in public, with a lot more humor. This doesn’t feel remotely like teasing.

 

“I told you to stay away when  _he’s_  here.” Yep, Derek’s very angry.

 

Who is he talking about? What the hell’s going on here? “Why? You two-timing me? That it?”

 

“Do you have a death wish?”

 

“Hhm, interesting question. Maybe?”

 

Derek gets up with enviable agility and pulls Stiles up by his arms as if he weighs nothing. Then he slams him against a large tree pressing his whole body against him.

 

It’s not even funny how much Stiles wants to ravish him right now, right here. He hasn’t had sex for a month now. It’s probably best not to think about how much being called a little bitch and being man-handled turns him on. Also, Derek smells really good, different, less of aftershave and shampoo and more of leaves and smoke, but still Derek. He’s wearing an old Henley with a tear in one of the sleeves and frayed jeans.

 

“You need to leave,” Derek says next to his ear, appearing to be sniffing him.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because  _he’s_  here. If he escapes he might go after you again.”

 

“Who?”

 

Derek moves back so he can look at Stiles. “Scott. Who else? Are you feeble?”

 

“Feeble?” Stiles snorts. “Who even says that anymore? Are we in a Romantic novel?”

 

“Says the guy who just used the word ‘two-timing’.”

 

Touché. But Stiles is already on to the next point. “Why’s Scott here? Melissa said he left a day early. What does that even mean?”  _Please, don’t let it be polyamory, not with Scott, that’s practically incest by proxy._

 

“It means he’s getting worse. What else?”

 

Stiles is getting more and more confused as to what’s going on. He’d say with some certainty that he and Derek are together although they seem to be in the habit of much rougher interaction and tone than he’s used to – or would ever have expected because Derek was never rough with him. He sighs. There’s nothing else for it. He needs to try again. Someone, somewhere may have an answer but he won’t find it if he doesn’t try. “Sooo, it may be difficult for you to believe but I’m not exactly who you think I am.”

 

Derek moves away from him abruptly and starts walking. “Go home, Stiles.”

 

Naturally Stiles ignores him and jogs a few steps to catch up. “Will you just listen for a moment?”

 

“Why? I don’t have time for this. You need to get your kicks somewhere else today.”

 

Stiles is starting to get out of breath as he needs to keep jogging because Derek isn’t slowing down in the slightest. “I need help.”

 

“Like I said I’m a little busy right now with the mess you made.”

 

The house comes into view and it looks oddly misshapen. On the left side there’s a roof on top of the first floor. The right side is higher and the roof is on top of the only two reasonably intact bedrooms on the second floor. At least there are doors and windows, but it looks ramshackle and temporary, barely livable.

 

When Derek stalks into the house Stiles follows him as if he’s been invited. It’s not as dark in here as it used to be but his eyes still take a few moments to adapt. There’s new furniture and the old fireplace has been restored to look truly magnificent, and everything looks much nicer than the outside suggested. He starts to say something complimentary when he sees Scott prowling towards him, growling deeply and menacingly and starting to shift.

 

Stiles flails back instinctively. “Hey, Scotty, it’s just little ole me. No need to bring out the arsenal.”

 

Instead of backing down, Scott seems to speed up, his prowl  _and_  his shift and his eyes are glowing red now. Before Stiles can react Derek's suddenly blocking his view, returning from the room on the right and roaring deafeningly. At the same time he gives Stiles a shove that propels him into the room he just came out of. A glance past Derek's broad shoulders reveals that Scott's backed away and started to shift back, moving slowly and dejectedly towards the huge armchair next to the fireplace.

 

The room Stiles stumbles into turns out to be the kitchen, fully equipped and very obviously in use, as evidenced by a pile of dirty dishes. He braces himself against the large rustic table to regain his balance managing to turn around just in time to see Derek come back in, looking irate. However, instead of pushing Stiles into something else – there’s a conveniently tall fridge to his right – Derek grabs Stiles’s head and kisses him. It’s wet and deep and hard enough to be called bruising. The next moment Stiles feels Derek's hand in his pants, touching his dick, which moves from considering to maybe get on board with this to hard in an astonishingly short period of time. He wants this, he wants  _Derek_ , he just  _wants_ …

 

“This is why you’re here, right?” Derek taunts. “Come for your daily dose? Couldn’t wait until after the full moon?” He picks Stiles up, deposits him onto the table and opens his pants, giving Stiles’s boner much appreciated room.

 

Wait a minute. “What? Wait.”

 

“Why? We can have a quickie on the table if you want. If this is the only way to get you to leave I can provide. The quicker you’re gone the better.”

 

His hand on Stiles’s dick strokes with just the right amount of pressure, just the way he likes it. It speaks volumes of how familiar this is to both of them. As does the way Derek talks to him with so much disdain, despite the fact that he’s clearly hard in his soft jeans, which is…

 

“Hold the fuck on just a minute.” Stiles pushes at Derek, who yields easily enough.

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t want it. You’re hard.”

 

“Look again,” Stiles huffs, tucking his by now only half-hard dick into his boxers. “What’s the matter with you? I’m not having sex with you with Scott in the next room. Or on the kitchen table. People eat here. I probably eat here.”

 

“Never bothered you before,” Derek snorts. “And Scott’s barely aware he’s human never mind what goes on around him. And even if he was, he doesn’t like me and hates you so he probably wouldn’t care if we did it right on the couch in the same room. Or rather over the back of the couch. More your style, isn’t it?” Derek's sneering at him but he's lost some of that aggressive confidence he’s shown so far, in fact almost all of it. His arms are crossed now and his whole demeanor has gone defensive, even hurt, despite his mocking tone.

 

“And once again: what? To pretty much all of that. Pretend I lost my memory and explain it to me.”

 

“Why not pretend you’re time traveling? At least I know the rules to that one. Go home, Stiles! I’m not playing your games.”

 

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles bursts out, relief flooding through him. “I’ve been here before. Let me guess: I was here for a day, talked about time travel and multiple universes and then couldn’t remember anything the next day?”

 

“Well, this is just getting better and better. How stupid do you think I am? I’m not gonna fall for that a second time. Not that I actually believed you the first time.”

 

So he’s been here before, probably at the very beginning before he ever heard about being  _Unfettered_ , when he still tried to change things, and together with Scott’s red eyes that only leaves one conclusion.  _Holy fuck!_  He lets himself fall back on the table, hitting his head harder than intended and puts his elbow over his eyes. “I made Scott kill Peter,” he groans. He doesn’t want to ask, he really doesn’t. It’s very obvious that nothing in this universe has gone right since that day.

 

“You did. But I let you,” Derek says in a more neutral tone. “It’s my fault for listening to your crazy shit.”

 

Stiles leans up on his elbows to look at him. “Well, it’s good to know that self-flagellation is your go-to solution in every universe. I fucked up, Derek, I know that. That’s not on you. That’s on me.”

 

“There’s enough shit to go round,” Derek huffs averting his eyes.

 

He busies himself with filling two mugs with coffee from the coffee maker, while Stiles hops off the table, does up his pants and sits in one of the chairs. “You haven’t really fucked on this table, have you?”

 

Derek puts the mugs down and sits opposite him. “You can safely assume that I‘ve fucked you on every surface in this house, vertical or horizontal and anything in between. And various other places, too. We never do anything else.” He shrugs. “Hey, everybody needs a hobby.”

 

Stiles has to laugh and discreetly adjusts his pants. The very idea of having a lot of sex with Derek is arousing, without the added bonus of this Derek being rather prone to talking about it in no uncertain terms. Stiles is discovering a whole new set of kinks he never knew he had. He clears his throat.

 

“Can you fill me in?”

 

Derek rubs the nape of his neck, just looking at Stiles, probably trying to make up his mind whether to believe him again. Then he stirs his coffee, keeping his eyes on the task. “Scott didn’t really cope with killing Peter. It’s not an easy thing taking a life, especially the way it went down. He was sick for a long time, still is. He’s blaming you… and me… and everyone else. His mother found out and is blaming us, too. Of course, he can’t go to therapy. They’d lock him away as soon as he just hints at werewolves. So his mental health's deteriorating and because of that he can’t cope with the shift or anything else he should be doing as an alpha. Most of the time his mother has him on suicide watch with you, me and the Argents taking shifts. Except around the full moon when he’s a real danger to other people. For those he comes here because I can control him and there are no neighbors. He usually arrives the night before and stays for three nights. This is the first time he’s come two nights before the moon. We’re just lucky that we can still trust him to make that call. Eventually he’ll have to be subdued permanently.”

 

Stiles has been feeling increasingly sick.  _I did that! I did that! Me! It was me! I did that to Scott and to Derek._  He swallows. “How… how are the Argents involved?”

 

“It was dicey for a while especially when Gerard was here. But Chris is actually a pretty sensible guy. His wife had an accident and Gerard was driving. After that he told Gerard to move on. He and Allison help out with Scott but in general it’s more like a truce. I keep Scott out of trouble and they keep the hunters away. I think Chris just wanted to get out of the life after his wife died anyway, so this suits him. All our lives revolve around Scott, mainly because you won’t give up on him. Even after he…” Derek gestures to Stiles’s face.

 

Stiles self-consciously puts his hand to his jawline trying to cover the scars even though they’re too big to be hidden by one hand. “He really hates me.”

 

Derek nods sagely. “Yep, tries to kill you on every full moon.”

 

“Wow, that’s incredibly depressing.”

 

“Yeah, as if my life wasn’t shitty enough before that. But, hey, I guess this is why they tell you not to mess with the past. Butterfly effect and all that.”

 

Yeah, that much Stiles has already worked out by himself. “So, you and me, the other me, cope by boning a lot?”

 

“You should try it. Works wonders. Gets everything out of your system. Never lasts long but then again you can always do it all over again.”

 

“How romantic.”

 

Derek blinks a few times then grins at him. “It’s just fucking.”

 

The next moment he’s out of his seat and by the door blocking Scott’s entrance. There’s an angry growl and Stiles moves quickly to bring the large table between himself and the door. He never lost his healthy respect and fear for werewolves and Scott’s shifted again.

 

“You need to go back in there,” Derek says sternly pointing into the other room and stopping Scott with one hand against his chest.

 

Stiles’s heart sinks when he sees the way Scott’s looking at him. There isn’t a shred of their friendship left in his eyes, just anger and hatred. He’s had issues with Scott at times in the past but deep down they’ve always been brothers, inseparable, supportive, loving. He didn’t know it was possible to destroy that bond so thoroughly. How does the Stiles of this universe cope, when he wasn’t even the one at fault?

 

Derek pushes Scott back and spends a few minutes with him before he comes back into the kitchen. “Go home, Stiles. He’s not gonna calm down while you’re here.”

 

It seems like the best solution right now, no matter how hard it is for Stiles. He slinks past the doorway to Scott’s room and Derek walks him quite some way towards his car.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles finally says.

 

“Save it.”

 

“I know it doesn’t make any real difference, but it’s true and can you please tell the other Stiles that I’m sorry?”

 

“Write him a note. And I’m sure you can find your way from here.” Derek stops and crosses his arms, waiting for him to leave.

 

Stiles drags his feet a little. Derek is always his hardest goodbye. “You know, I’ve met quite a few versions of you. And through other people I got glimpses of the other Stiles, too. What you two are doing isn't healthy.”

 

“Really? He has no complaints. Rolls over at the slightest opportunity to have my dick up his ass.”

 

“Maybe he’s just making it easy for you because he thinks it's all you can cope with right now.”

 

“Spare me your nickel and dime psychology.”

 

Stiles glares at him, frustrated by Derek's unbreakable shell of contempt and indifference. “You’re not defined by the people who mistreated you, Derek. And you most certainly don’t need to emulate them.”

 

Derek pushes him against the nearest tree, holding him there at arm’s length. “Stop talking and start walking.”

 

Stiles nods in agreement but when Derek releases him, he simply moves forward and kisses Derek as gently as he can while still making sure that there’s no doubt this is a lover’s kiss. When he withdraws, Derek has his eyes closed and chases his mouth with his own before jerking back and staring at him like a rabbit caught in the headlight.

 

Stiles smiles. “He loves you. He’s just biding his time until you realize you love him, too.”

 

Derek glares at him then turns without a word and stalks towards his home.

 

Stiles can’t resist a parting shot. “It’s never  _just a fuck_  for me. Not with  _you_. Not in  _any_  universe.”

 

Derek stops in his tracks for just a moment before he carries on as if he hasn’t heard.

 

Stiles smiles as he walks back to his jeep. Well, that answers the question how Stationary Stiles copes. He has Derek.

 

When the tow truck finally shows up he asks the mechanic to drop him off near the vet surgery, where Deaton gives him access to his secret library. Stiles had an inkling that might be the case in this universe because he assumes they’re all looking for help for Scott. However, as soon as he’s alone in the room he starts searching for anything he can find on becoming  _Unfettered_. It’s time-consuming and tedious because no one ever writes clearly in these damned books. They may as well all have been written by Dr I'm-so-enigmatic Deaton himself. It’s all hints and dire warnings not to attempt whatever they’re not explaining the ins and outs of anyway. Eventually he falls asleep over one of the books.

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

**_ Day 30 _ **

**__ **

Stiles wakes up in his own bed and goes through his usual morning routine. There isn’t much to recall from his dream except Deaton’s voice saying _Unfettered_ until he wants to scream. Then he takes stock of the previous day. What happened? Did he change anything? Not really. Did he make anything worse? Looked like it couldn’t get much worse. How will Stationary Stiles react when he wakes up in the morning? He’ll be slumped over some obscure book in Deaton’s library but somehow Stiles got the impression it wouldn’t be the first time. Other than that, Derek was foul-mouthed and super-hot or possibly super-hot _because_ he was foul-mouthed. _Well, hello, dirty-talk kink, how’s it going today?_ And hopefully with some luck Derek will start treating Stationary Stiles a little differently from now on and knowing Stationary Stiles the way he does, he’ll take a mile for every tentatively offered inch.

 

After he’s counted how many days he’s been doing this – _One: Lydia’s funeral, Two…_ – he realizes that he’s no further with his problem than he was before. If the solution was in a book – even an ancient and super secret book in Deaton’s ancient and super secret library – then Deaton would know about it although he may not tell. Stiles needs to look in other places; places – or possibly people – he hasn’t thought of yet.

 

He grabs his phone to check the date. It’s sometime near the end of his sophomore year, so he’ll have to contend with kanima Jackson again. And possibly Gerard. Urgh! Although... he gets ready in a rush while forming a tentative plan in his head. It always gives him a boost of energy when he doesn’t just mindlessly stumble through the day. His dad isn’t at home so he has breakfast alone before it’s time to hop in the Jeep and go to school. He sees Scott’s bike chained up which means he may be able to pump him for information before first period. It’s always best not to take anything for granted.

 

When he’s opening his locker – which thankfully so far had the same combination in every universe – he notices a commotion at the other end of the corridor. There’s a rapidly growing crowd forming a circle among snickers and guffaws. That’s never a good sign in high school and it’s just not in his nature to ignore it.

 

He jogs over and skids the last few yards, letting his momentum carry him halfway through the ring of students, which earns him a few curses and shoves. It takes only a little determination to part the rest of the onlookers blocking his view and he ends up inside the circle. There’s a girl on the floor shaking violently and it takes him a few moments to recognize her as Erica. Holy shit, she’s having an epileptic fit.

 

He grabs the recording cell phone of the guy nearest to him to get his attention and yells, “Go and get the nurse, you moron, and rethink your life choices while you’re at it! If the nurse isn’t here in two minutes I’ll get my dad to arrest you for failure to assist.”

 

Taking his jacket off he kneels down to place it folded-up under Erica’s head to stop it from rhythmically hitting the floor. He’s not sure if she’s even conscious because her eyes are completely unfocussed but she’s flailing too violently and too rigidly to try and move her onto her side. A moment later another jacket lands on her middle section covering the stain on her jeans where she lost control of her bladder. He looks up to see Scott determinedly collecting cell phones from everyone who’s saving this incident for posterity, commonly known as the internet. By now there’s a general reluctant withdrawal from the scene and the laughter has stopped. Some look horrified either by the spectacle or hopefully by their own behavior.

 

Abruptly Erica stops seizing, turning floppy and malleable, and Stiles manages to push her gently into the recovery position, making sure that her head is well-supported and Scott’s jacket doesn’t slip off. “Hey, Erica, can you hear me?”

 

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder and Ms Morell nods at him to move out of the way so she can take his place. “Thank you, Stiles,” she says quietly and bends down to talk to Erica. She also brought a blanket that she places over her patient.

 

The bell goes and the crowd disperses except for a bunch of people still waiting for Scott to return their phones. Stiles makes grabby hands at Scott, who doesn’t crack the tiniest smile but gives him half a dozen cell phones. Together they delete the scene of Erica’s seizure and Stiles can’t resist giving each of the owners some advice to mend their sociopathic tendencies as he hands them their property. Scott stays resolutely silent.

 

By the time they’re done, Erica’s sitting up leaning against the lockers and huddling in the blanket. Stiles grabs his jacket saying, “Hope you feel better soon,” but Erica doesn’t react. Then he claps Scott on the shoulder. “Quick thinking, man.”

 

Scott pulls away jerkily. “Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger leurs-meme,” he says haughtily.

 

Stiles smirks. “You speaking French is a real turn-on, dude. You sure you don’t wanna make out for a bit?”

 

Behind him Ms Morell snorts and Stiles hurries to move out of earshot, closely followed by Scott.

 

“Just because we both happen to do the right thing doesn’t change anything,” Scott says.

 

“What?” God, he really has to stop saying that. There must be better way to say _I’m confused, please elaborate._

 

“We’re not friends, Stiles.”

 

Stiles can’t take this seriously. Scott is uncharacteristically stiff and refuses to look at him. They probably just had a little tiff. Maybe in this universe Stiles kissed Allison? Yeah, that doesn’t sound likely but still Scott probably just needs jollying along as he usually does, so Stiles grins broadly. “And yet here we are, walking down this same corridor together all friendly-like.”

 

“Because we have the same class.” Scott’s clearly exasperated now. “We won’t ever be friends again until…” But they’ve reached their classroom and Scott just carries on inside without finishing the sentence.

 

“Until what…?” Stiles asks. He’s not good with being kept in the dark but the teacher’s already there and Stiles realizes that their ‘tiff’ might be a little more severe when he finds himself sitting practically at the opposite end of the classroom from Scott. Wow, that never happened before unless a teacher decided to separate them.

 

It carries on like this throughout the day and at lunchtime Stiles sits in the cafeteria by himself trying to work out what’s going on. There’s no point in asking questions because apparently none of his friends is talking to him so he has to make do with making deductions from the sidelines.

 

Scott and Allison are sitting at the popular table with Lydia and Jackson although judging by their body language and the two people between them, Lydia and Jackson are either on a break or split up for good. It doesn’t stop Lydia from looking radiant and having all the other guys – and half the girls, too – completely in her thrall. Except for Danny, of course. The way she’s talking so animatedly and flicking her hair like she’s in a beauty product commercial strongly suggests Lydia’s still in her pretending-to-be-vapid phase. So it’s no use talking to her.

 

Allison completely blanked Stiles when he tried to speak to her on the way out of class just before lunch. Whether it had to do with Scott waiting for her or was her own decision he couldn’t tell. Erica is nowhere to be seen which is unsurprising, as she probably went home after her seizure this morning if she hasn’t been taken to see a doctor. He spots Boyd at a table nearby, sitting alone reading a manga. There’s no sign of Isaac.

 

Stiles never had many friends. His hyperactivity and sarcasm has always been too much for most teenagers. It was only after Scott got bitten that his social circle expanded somewhat but this day really makes him realize how it used to be. _Stiles Stilinski, you really sucked in high school,_ he tells himself. This lunch makes him feel almost as alienated as jumping through universes does and he has a whole new appreciation for Boyd's decision to join the pack, although there doesn't seem to _be_ a pack. As soon as he’s bolted down some food he gets up and leaves the cafeteria to wander around the school until next period. In the corridor near the principal’s office he finds a small table with flowers and some candles around a framed photograph. He steps up to it and then reels back involuntarily when he recognizes Isaac. There’s no mention why this is here, other than a RIP banner around the bottom of the picture. _Shiiit._

 

Since he can’t ask anyone, he hurries to the library to look through recent news stories while it’s still break time. He finds his answer soon enough. It wasn’t even that long ago, less than four weeks. _Local Teen Found Dead In Freezer_. The article talks about child abuse, the father getting taken into custody and then goes on to speculate about gruesome details, which may or may not be true. It doesn’t matter, he knows enough.

 

He leaves school before lunch is over, making a slight detour to drive past the police station. It wouldn’t be smart to go home when he’s not sure whether his dad’s there or not, but it seems safe enough when he spots his cruiser in the station parking lot. Good, because he’s got things to do. If Gerard’s here, he only has today to carry out his plan. Unfortunately he can’t ask Allison for help like he was hoping to because apparently he somehow screwed up all his relationships in this universe.

 

He makes himself a coffee in the kitchen while planning to… make a plan in the first place. Roping in Derek would normally be his first choice but not when Gerard’s involved. He wouldn’t want to be responsible for him and his cronies coming anywhere near Derek or vice versa. As he’s adding milk to his drink he can hear someone coming down the stairs. Oh crap, his dad’s home! Someone’s must have dropped him off. Now he’ll need to pretend to be sick and waste precious time. He clears his throat, then coughs for good measure and turns to greet his father with a miserable sounding, “Hey, Dad.”

 

The next moment he almost drops his coffee when Derek appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and smiling brightly, saying, “You know, if you start calling me daddy I may have to rethink having sex with you. Not really a kink I want to get into, you know, with your actual dad living in the same house and all.”

 

“Fuck _me_ ,” Stiles whispers under his breath, flabbergasted and still staring at him like the hallucination he must surely be, with his tight t-shirt, soft sweatpants and… _Superman_ socks?

 

“Happy to oblige just as long as you don’t call me daddy. Why aren’t you in school?”

 

“Why are you here? I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you. I’m always happy to see you. Because you’re an angel, not to mention a sight for sore eyes. But why _are_ you? _Here_ , I mean? Why are you in my house looking like… you live here?”

 

Derek frowns. “Because I _do_? Are you feeling alright?”

 

Stiles sits down heavily, setting his mug on the table too hard so the coffee sloshes over the rim. “You… live… here? With me and my dad?”

 

“Well, in view of what I was just saying… You know what? Scrap that.” Derek pushes off the door frame and comes over to squat next to Stiles taking the hand that isn’t glued to the mug handle. “What happened?”

 

“I don’t know what’s going on. No one’s talking to me. And you’re here and… I’m glad you’re here but… how? And… why’s Scott not talking to me? Did I make out with Allison?”

 

“I don’t know. Did you?”

 

“How would I know?”

 

“Because usually people remember when they kiss someone. I remember kissing you. Although it’s been so many times there might be one or two that aren’t perfectly clear in my mind.” Derek's smile fades a little. “ _Did_ you kiss Allison?”

 

Stiles shakes his head. “I really don’t think I would. I was just thinking that Scott and I had a fight when he made out with Lydia, so maybe it’s the reverse here.” Stiles finally lets go of his mug to put both arms around Derek's neck for a very welcome hug. “I’m _really_ glad you’re here. Everything’s always easier when we’re together. I don’t feel so alone then.” And now he’s turned into a babbling mess at the first sign of some affection. Yesterday must have been a real strain on his nerves, not to mention that this is the second day in a row where he and Scott are at loggerheads.

 

There’s a long pause while Derek holds him tight, stroking his back with one hand and burying the other in the hair at the nape of his neck. Then he says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. We’ve been together for ten months. I’ve lived here for a year. You make it sound like it’s all news to you.”

 

Stiles sighs and lets go causing Derek to get up and pull a chair closer so he can keep hold of Stiles’s hand when he sits down. While Stiles is still casting around for the right words, being well aware that he’s just reluctant to break up this intimacy, Derek suddenly releases his hand. He sits back, tensing and flashing his eyes red.

 

“You’re not Stiles.”

 

Stiles scrambles back in alarm, the legs of his chair screeching across the tiles. Never get complacent around werewolves, especially when they’re suspicious of you. “I am and I’m not. Please, let me explain before you rip out my throat.”

 

“Then you’d better talk fast,” is the menacing reply, accompanied by a well-timed growl at the end.

 

 _That_ is something Stiles can do.

 

Derek looks on without any discernible expression, no doubt listening closely to Stiles’s heartbeat to detect even the minutest lie. When Stiles has finished his tale of time travel and parallel universes, Derek is quiet for a while, then he abruptly leaves the kitchen taking the stairs two at a time. It sounds like he goes into the guest room, which makes perfect sense because the sheriff's not likely to let them share a room while his son is underage. If he even knows.

 

When Derek returns he has his wallet with him. From the very back he pulls a small piece of paper and hands it to Stiles. “Did you write this?”

 

Stiles unfolds the note, which is in his own handwriting and simply says: _If you need anything, find the sheriff’s son. He will help you._ Suddenly he finds the whole situation hilarious. He laughs until he’s out of breath, nodding and spluttering between wheezes, “Yeah, I did. Eight days ago.” It seems that everything comes back to him eventually. Luckily this one seems to have worked out well, for Derek and him at least. When he’s calmed down and wiped the tears from his eyes, he tells Derek about making sure that Scott was nowhere near the woods that night. “So, will you tell me what happened?”

 

Indicating his willingness with a nod, Derek explains how he came back to Beacon Hills looking for his sister and finding her dead. Then he discovered Stiles’s note one day and tried to find out who this sheriff’s son was. After a little stalking he decided to confront him and that’s when it became really interesting. Stiles recognized the handwriting on the note as his own, but couldn’t remember writing it. Eventually he worked out that he must have left it on that one day that’s a complete and rather worrying blank to him and they decided he must have been sleepwalking or something. However, the whole thing was so mysterious that Stiles couldn’t let it go and therefore wouldn’t let Derek go either.

 

Meanwhile Scott started dating Allison and became besotted with her. Nothing extraordinary there but when Kate turned up things came to a head. Allison was initiated into the world of hunting and in turn told Scott about it. That’s how Stiles found out and having a lot of time on his hands through Scott being more or less unavailable, he worked out that Derek's a werewolf. His predominant reactions were awe and delight.

 

Eventually there was a confrontation between Kate and Peter, where Kate was killed, but Allison nearly died, too. Peter didn’t care for anything other than that she was an Argent. It was Derek who saved her but he got injured in the fight.

 

It was at this point that the different factions crystallized. Scott spent every waking minute with Allison until she recovered and then decided to become a hunter in order to be able to protect her in future. Derek took his injuries to the only place he felt safe: Stiles. As he recovered he told Stiles all about his family and Stiles naturally took his side. When Gerard appeared on the scene soon after, he very quickly hunted down Peter and killed him – turning Derek into an alpha in the process without meaning to.

 

At the moment everyone’s in a standoff. With Derek's help Stiles did a show-and-tell for his dad, who immediately came down in favor of Derek, especially as it could now be proven that Kate was responsible for the Hale fire. With the full weight of the law behind him he issued a warning to the hunters that Derek was under his protection as evidenced by the fact that he now occupied the Stilinski’s spare room and was also hired as a deputy.

 

“You’re a frigging deputy?” Stiles bursts out, feeling strangely pleased. “I bet you look hot in uniform.”

 

“And out of it,” Derek grins.

 

Stiles chuckles merrily. It seems that just a year of feeling safe and having a kind of family again turned Derek into a ray of sunshine. He’s completely at ease and seems very open. Stiles has no doubt that it’s his dad’s influence. This is the only universe he’s come across so far, where Derek’s had the benefit of the patented Stilinski Parenting™. He knows that his dad wouldn’t have someone close to his son’s age living in his house without taking care of him in his own unique style. It’s a given.

 

“Does my dad know about…?”

 

Derek shrugs. “We’re not sure. We suspect he does but we’re being very careful. Neither one of us wants to put him in a difficult position. He’s a great guy.”

 

“Yeah, he is,” Stiles agrees fondly.

 

“So what are your plans for getting back home?” Derek asks. “Do you even have a plan?”

 

“Well, today I was gonna persuade Allison to steal Gerard’s bestiary to see if there’s anything in there that could help me. But I doubt that she’ll help now with her not talking to me and all. So I’m thinking about casing the Argent house and stealing it myself if they leave at any point.”

 

“You want to walk into the lion’s den and steal the thing from right under their noses?”

 

“Well, I know where it is. Theoretically at least. I know where it was in my universe so if it’s in the same place, I have an advantage. I can be in and out in no time.”

 

“There are three adult hunters living in that house.”

 

“Hence the plan for me to wait until they _leave_.”

 

“Not gonna happen.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Derek stands up, suddenly towering over Stiles. “I will not allow you to do this.”

 

Stiles gets up as well and tries very hard not to be intimidated with only limited success. Ah well, fake it till you make it has always worked for him in these situations. “Oh yeah? You gonna stop me?”

 

With a mocking smile Derek flashes his eyes red for a moment. “Shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

 

There’s no question about this. Physically Derek will always have the advantage over him but Stiles has yet to come across any version of Derek that puts this obvious fact to actual use. He threatens a lot and maybe shoves a little, but he doesn’t force his will on Stiles. However, judging by his expression this might be the exception to the rule. “You would actually use force?” Stiles asks still with a slight, if now less certain, smile.

 

“You bet your ass I would. I won’t allow you to jeopardize everything you’ve – _he’s_ – worked for. You have no idea how hard it was for him to forge this truce… to involve his father… what he gave up to keep me safe. I won’t let you destroy that on the off-chance that there might be something in this book, that you can use. If need be I _will_ knock you out.”

 

It’s kind of heart-warming how protective this Derek is of _his_ Stiles. It’s the first time that happened or rather the first time the necessity has arisen. Stiles can’t help but feel proud of Derek for making that distinction and sticking to his guns or claws or whatever. “If he really did it all for you then you just proved him right.”

 

When Stiles drops heavily into his chair it takes Derek a moment to back down but after some hesitation he sits as well.

 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Stiles says burying his head in his elbows on the table. “Don’t you know anyone who’d know anything about this _Unfettered_ business? Just don’t say Deaton.”

 

“In that case, no. Peter knew a lot of stuff. He was always secretly or not so secretly preparing to become an alpha or at least have the same knowledge so he could hold his own. But he’s dead.”

 

Stiles groans. “The one time I’d _want_ the guy resurrected…”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“He…” Stiles’s head comes up sharply. “Never mind that. Do you have his laptop?”

 

“What laptop?”

 

“The one he transferred everything to. After he woke from his coma, he transferred everything to his laptop, books and lore and that kind of stuff. He hid it somewhere in your old house.”

 

Derek smiles. “We could have a look. My shift doesn’t start for another three hours.”

 

 

 

 

The house is the burnt-out ruin it always was. It takes them over an hour to find what they’re looking for because Stiles doesn’t know where exactly Peter’s hidden it. There was never any reason to assume that detail may come in handy in case he ended up in a different universe. What even is his life? They tear up floorboards and finally strike it lucky when they examine the stairs. Stiles almost reverently removes it from its plastic wrapper and sits on the bottom step.

 

All of a sudden, Derek turns towards the door. “Company,” he says urgently. “Stay.” He walks out the house, already with that slight prowl that characterizes his nature.

 

Stiles hastily wraps the laptop back up. The battery’s dead anyway so he can’t do anything with it out here. He leans it against the wall right next to the front door and steps onto the porch just in time to see a dark Hummer draw up and idle a few yards away from them.

 

Derek turns to him. “Is there any version of you who actually does what he’s told?”

 

“I doubt it,” he grins back.

 

Then they both face the car, which has started revving a few times as if the driver is preparing for the start of a race – or to run them down. Stiles is already calculating how the rickety old porch will fare in a confrontation with the huge car. Probably not well although how much injury they might sustain with standing basically above the vehicle’s main body is debatable. Eventually the passenger gets out. It’s Gerard and he has that nasty expression on his face that Stiles remembers only too well and a rifle in his hand, pointing in their direction but lowered for now. Chris, who’s been behind the wheel, now switches off the engine and gets out staying half-hidden by the car door.

 

“This is private property,” Derek says evenly, his eyes fixed coldly on the old man.

 

Stiles has a distinct feeling of déjà vu although that scene most likely never occurred in this universe. This Derek is also far more composed than _his_ Derek was the first time they met.

 

“Well, I am a private person,” Gerard smirks.

 

“On _my_ property you’re a private _trespasser_.”

 

“Don’t get too cocky,” Gerard warns him, riled up now, possibly by the fact that Derek doesn’t show any fear or anger. He turns to Stiles. “Does your father know you’re out here with _that_ doing god-knows-what?”

 

“I pretty sure he’s less interested in what Derek and I are doing and more interested in you being on _private property_ and also harassing us while _trespassing_ , which _we_ are _not_.”

 

“Your father won’t protect you forever.” It’s uncertain whether he means Stiles or Derek or both.

 

“He doesn’t have to. By the time he retires you’ll be long dead, grandpa. How’s the cancer coming along?”

 

Gerard blanches while Chris looks from Stiles to his father and says with just a hint of uncertainty, “Dad?”

 

Gerard ignores him in favor of glowering at Stiles. It takes a few moments for him to find his words. “Whoever told you will wish they’d never been born by the time I finish with them.”

 

“Yeah, good luck with trying to find out who my deep throat is.”

 

“Get in the car,” Gerard barks at his son, who casts another round of long silent looks at everyone before he obeys.

 

It seems like their attempt at intimidation, or possibly more, was derailed before it even started. Sometimes knowledge really is power. Stiles smiles at the idea of how Gerard will now have to deal with Chris knowing that he's dying. Serves him right. Stiles really, really hates Gerard. He always did but it’s when he sees him get back into the car and driving off, he realizes there will always be a part of him that also fears him with the bone-shaking remembrance of pain. No retaliation or trust in being protected by other people will ever change that.

 

Derek stands there for a long time watching the path after the Hummer’s disappeared and saying nothing probably listening to make sure the hunters don’t double back. Finally he looks at Stiles. “Is it true?”

 

Stiles can’t help but be impressed because Derek didn’t give any indication of surprise during the confrontation. His poker face is much improved. He shrugs. “Apparently so. It is in my universe. Was worth a shot.” He reaches inside the house and grabs the laptop. “Let’s go. God, I hope this isn’t all in ancient Latin.”

 

“Why would it be?” Derek is already by the Camaro.

 

“Well, where I come from the bestiary is in ancient Latin.”

 

“Which you can read?”

 

“Which I _can’t_ read. I was hoping _you_ could. Don’t you speak like a bazillion languages?” He gets into the passenger seat.

 

Derek slips behind the wheel but doesn’t start the car yet. “Nobody _speaks_ Latin, Stiles. It’s called a dead language because all the everyday speakers are dead. And I most certainly don’t know languages I can’t use. I may be able to translate the odd phrase but I doubt I could do even that much in _ancient_ Latin.”

 

“Oh.” Since Lydia isn’t there to fall back on and he probably wouldn’t have time to persuade Ms Morell, he’s very glad he didn’t attempt to steal the bestiary. The look Derek levels at him tells him that he also spotted the flaw in his earlier plan and is judging him for it.  _Careful, you need to be careful, so much more careful even when you’re getting desperate! These are not your lives._

 

When they get home, Stiles finds a charger to fit the laptop among his large collection of odd cables and connectors. He’s worried that the machine’s been out there too long to survive but it comes to life immediately. “You don’t happen to know your uncle’s password, do you?” This has the potential to be very time-consuming, if it’s even within his capability. Peter’s not likely to use his girlfriend’s name as username and password. Luckily it doesn’t look like it even requires a username.

 

Derek doesn’t need to think about it. “Failalpha, one word, capital F.”

 

Stiles snorts. “Was he psychic? He was certainly the fail-iest alpha of them all.”

 

“It’s wordplay or soundplay or whatever you call it. P Hale put together makes Phale. Then he just changed it to a homonym to be clever. It basically means Peter Hale, alpha.”

 

“Oh jeez,” Stiles groans. “Some things never change.” The password opens up the desktop to a solid wall of file folders. “Oh crap!”

 

Derek looks over his shoulder. “Wow, he’s been busy.”

 

The folders are in alphabetical order, literally, starting with _A-AG_. Stiles clicks it open and finds a huge amount of sub-folders. “There’s no way I can get through this in one day.”

 

“Try some inspired guess work, like… _U_ for _Unfettered_.”

 

“Oh, how very clever of you! I’d never have worked that one out by my own little self.” He jerks away when Derek pokes his side but doesn’t let himself get distracted from typing. There’s no folder for _Unfettered_ but then he has to force himself not to tap on the folder marked _Unicorn_ s. Even just the titles are incredibly tempting. Next he tries TIL-TOX for _Time-travel_. Nothing. The same goes for _Change_ neither _Change History_ nor _Change Past_ is there but there’s a folder on _Changelings_ that makes Stiles’s finger itch.

 

He resists. Over and over again he stops himself from opening interesting-sounding but ultimately irrelevant files. After a while he even tries to no longer read the names of files, just check the letters. _Looking up History? Start with H, go down the list, once you get to Hiv… don’t even look how that file name finishes…_ Hive _? I wonder what… nope! Think of another place where_ Unfettered _might be mentioned._

 

Research has always been Stiles’s thing. He prides himself on his google-fu despite his tendency to get lost. He’s also good at word association and can effortlessly jump from one topic to the next while keeping the search somewhat coherent. Still, this is a daunting task. Soon he has over twenty tabs open because the laptop is old and closing them down just to have to wait for them to open again is tedious. But it soon gets confusing and he makes a point of closing every file he’s already looked at.

 

He feels increasingly harried as time passes. If he could just read _all_ the files. The knowledge he could acquire! It’s also the only way to be sure he’s not missing anything. Without taking any notice he drinks the coffee and eats the food that appears magically on his desk. He barely notices Derek moving in and out of his room until he finally speaks to him.

 

“I have to go to work now.”

 

Stiles turns to look at him and does a spit-take. “Wow!” Derek is in his deputy uniform, which he fills extremely well. Stiles can see all the women and quite a few men in town deliberately speeding just so they can watch Deputy Hale strut up to their car to give them a ticket. “You look…”

 

Derek snorts and Stiles realizes that this isn’t the first time he’s seen this reaction from Stiles. Trying not to think of handcuffs and potential role playing scenarios, Stiles clears his throat and says, “Thanks for your help.”

 

“Any time. If you leave a note for Stiles, he can finish the research in case you come back here in the future. Then I could tell you.”

 

“Great idea. I’ll do that.”

 

A fond smile appears on Derek's face. “He’ll be so excited that you’re time-traveling.” And then he's gone with a quick wave and a sincere. “I hope you get home.”

 

Stiles sits there listening to him leave the house and drive off. It hurts. This Derek makes a sharp distinction between _his_ Stiles and him. No other Derek has done that to this extent and his laconic goodbye makes him feel like shit. This incarnation of the two of them is obviously very happy and very comfortable and Stiles wants that with a desperate harsh longing that threatens to overwhelm him with grief.

 

Instead he throws himself back into his research trying to think of words to look up, _alter, transform, mind-melt, vortex…_ The sheer volume of files makes his quest pretty hopeless. He may have to rely on Stationary Stiles to trawl through them in depth, so he writes an extensive note first. It’s a long shot because he may never come here again but he likes to cover his bases and it’s not as if he never comes to the same place twice. Why not three times? Anything’s possible.

 

Two hours later his dad comes home and they have dinner together. Stiles's eyes are burning and his head hurts so he welcomes the distraction. Seeing his dad again is always one of the highlights of his day.

 

When he’s back in his bedroom it takes him another three hours of looking through the files before he finds something. It’s under _J_ for _Journey._ What a stupid place to put it! It talks about a _Journey of the Mind_ which can be taken to one’s own past to revisit people and events. At no point is the word _Unfettered_ mentioned only that the journey requires a _loosening spell_ which he assumes is the same thing. There’s nothing about parallel universes and crucially not a word about how to get back, just that there needs to be a _fixing point._ None of it is news to Stiles. It doesn’t even explain how to do the spell but rather that it’s perilous and should not be undertaken. Incensed he snaps the laptop shut. _Surprise, surprise, another dead end_.

 

He gets into bed and tries to think about where else he can get information. Maybe it will have to be the Bestiary after all if he finds a universe where he can steal it without screwing everything up. When he’s tossed and turned for a while without coming anywhere nearer to either a solution or sleep, he can’t resist getting back up and opening the laptop one more time.

 

The file under _U_ for _Unicorns_ contains a single sentence: _There are no unicorns, you moron!_

 

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, just proves that Peter Hale is a dick in any universe."

 

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

**_ Day 31 _ **

**__ **

In the morning Stiles is too damned weary to move. For a long while he can’t even bring himself to open his eyes. Sleep, he just wants to sleep and preferably wake up to find that it’s all simply been one big nightmare. Yesterday was pretty awful in an entirely insidious way. He didn’t change anything nor did he find any useful information. He also remembers now that the one time he met Peter on his time-leaping adventures – when Peter wasn’t bat-shit crazy on his ill-gotten alpha high – he was surprised that time-travel even existed. Given his vested interest in resetting events this can only mean that even if they end up in the same universe again, Peter won’t know anything. Another source of information ticked off the list. He’s starting to think that Deaton was telling the truth and no one knows how this works.

 

The most important revelation he takes away from the day before is about Derek though. For the first time Derek wasn’t all sympathetic and while helpful up to a point he made it quite clear where his loyalties lay. That’s probably true of all the Dereks he’s met, it just never became relevant before. Stiles isn’t used to not being Derek’s priority. He’s been living under Derek's protection for so long – long before they got together – and now none of the Dereks he’ll meet will ever put him first again.

 

Miserably he pulls the bed cover tighter around himself as if the warmth can make him feel better, but it’s not the kind of comfort he craves. He counts out the days he’s been doing this. Only thirty-one and it feels like a lifetime already. He’s getting to a point where he feels like he’s merely the caretaker of the body he’s inhabiting and his job is not to damage the goods. First, do no harm. It might just be best to stay in bed so he can’t screw anything up. Derek was very adamant yesterday that he has no right to do that and Stiles agrees.

 

Eventually he grabs his phone to look at the date because skipping school is also messing things up for Stationary Stiles. However, it turns out to be a Saturday and the summer break between his sophomore and his junior year. He checks his text messages and finds one from Scott informing him that he won’t be back for another day. Without any idea where he might be or why, Stiles tries to be funny and affectionate in his reply. It’s good to have his buddy back.

 

When he hears his dad rummaging around in the kitchen starting the coffeemaker, he drags himself into the shower and gets downstairs just in time to share breakfast with him. For the first time his father’s presence fails to cheer him up though. He can’t stop thinking about how this version of his dad would also put his own son above all else, including him.

 

It’s not as if he doesn’t appreciate the sentiment in principle. In his own universe, damn right he’d want his father to put him first if some _unfettered_ universe jumper took over his body for a day. But it also means that there will never be anybody anywhere who won’t swap him for his other self in a heartbeat. How is he going to live with that? He supposes it’s been true the whole time but it was only Derek's behavior yesterday that really brought it home.

 

“You alright, son?”

 

He forces a smile onto his face. “Course. Are you working today?”

 

His dad blinks. “This afternoon?” he says in a tone that suggests Stiles should know this.

 

“Ah, yes, I remember. Sorry, didn’t sleep well.”

 

“You going to see Scott?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “I guess.” He doesn’t like lying to his dad but it seems to be the easiest way if he wants to go out. And he needs to because it becomes ever more evident that he shouldn’t be here. Not just here in this house but also stealing days from someone else’s life. And he wouldn’t if he only knew how to stop.

 

Resolving to take dinner for his dad to the station this evening if he can, he takes his Jeep first to the train depot – which isn’t even there anymore, just an area of debris where it once stood – then to the loft. The whole building looks lived in as if each apartment has been refurbished and rented out. Derek seems to be doing well for himself.

 

The loft is locked so he knocks, plastering a smile on his face that he doesn’t really feel and which dies a sudden heart-stopping death when a guy he’s never seen before answers the door. In just a pair of sweatpants. And yes, he’s good-looking in a hipster kind of way with his dark-rimmed glasses and tousled blond hair.

 

“Can I help you?” the guy says when Stiles remains speechless.

 

“Eh, yes, I’m looking for Derek?”

 

The guy shakes his head. “Don’t know any Derek.”

 

Well, that’s a relief. Stiles really doesn’t know how he’d cope with a Derek who’s with someone else. Probably not well. However, who’s to say that Derek's even called Derek in all the universes? This one’s quite different already as evidenced by the torn-down depot and this building looking like very desirable real estate. “Hale?” he tries again, attempting to look surreptitiously past the guy into the loft. “Derek Hale?”

 

“Oh, yeah. You mean the landlord? Didn’t know his first name’s Derek. He lives in the big house in the preserve. You know the place?”

 

“Well enough,” Stiles assures him.

 

Derek living in the Hale house when he could be living in the loft must mean it’s been restored. So things should be going okay and with a bit of luck no one’s dead. He tries not to get his hopes up too much as he drives through the woods but as soon as he sees the house he has to smile. It’s looking fine, very different from the day when he was a werewolf, no glass fronts but pleasant in a cozy sense, traditional, fitting perfectly into its surroundings with old-fashioned trimmings. This is closer to what it must have looked like before the fire.

 

He parks the Jeep between the Camaro and some SUV that speaks of another large pack. Large packs are good. They mean safety and settling down, just what Derek needs. The trunk of the Camaro is open and Stiles grabs two of the paper shopping bags to carry them into the house. He always likes to scope out the situation a little before he drops his bombshell.

 

Inside the layout is exactly how he would imagine it before the fire, with everything meticulously restored down to family photos on the wall. He slows down a little to look at them, recognizing Derek and Cora and knowing Laura sadly only from seeing her dead body and looking at pictures in her police file. There are two other siblings, younger than Cora, a sister maybe a year or two her junior and a much younger one of about toddler age. His stomach turns when he remembers what happened to them and he hurries on to where he knows the kitchen must be.

 

The first person he comes across is Cora. She’s wiping the face of a small child of about four, whom she’s sat on one of the counters, and turns sharply towards him when he enters and tries to say as nonchalantly as possible, “Hey, Cora.” He places the bags on the table where there are four other ones already. Where does the kid come from? He looks like a Hale so he must be either Cora’s or… Derek's.

 

Cora moves in the blink of an eye. Spotting him and shoving the kid out the nearest door is like a reflex. The child runs off surprisingly fast, thumping up the stairs calling, “Mom!” in a loud voice while Cora eyes him for a few moments then asks, “Stiles? What are you doing here?” It sounds neither annoyed nor angry but simply confused.

 

Stiles opens his mouth to speak then suddenly notices that she’s wearing a dress, a flowery yellow dress, and closes his mouth again.

 

When he doesn’t speak Cora yells without taking her eyes off of him, “Mom! I think it’s for you.” Then she says a little quieter, “Normally visitors wait by the door. Or at least announce themselves.”

 

Stiles ignores her because… _Mom_? His eyes are glued to the doorway and within less than a minute, a woman appears, tall, willowy, with the black Hale hair that both Derek and Laura inherited. He can do nothing but stare at her until he finally manages a croaky, “You’re Talia Hale.”

 

She chuckles. “Yes, I know. Aren’t you a friend of Cora’s from school?”

 

“Mom! We’re in the same year but we’re not _friends_.” Cora sounds shocked by the suggestion. So she’s not that different from the Cora Hale he knows. She still thinks he’s a waste of space.

 

“Ehm, I’m a friend of Derek's?”

 

Talia smiles. “You don’t sound terribly sure about that.”

 

He isn’t, he _really_ isn’t, not any longer. Obviously this is not the Hale house restored to its pre-fire glory, this is the Hale house that never burned down in the first place. Here Cora goes to BHHS and wears flowery dresses and looks after her very much alive little brother, who now peeks around his mother’s legs.

 

“Aren’t you Sheriff Stilinski’s son?” Talia prompts.

 

“Yes. Yes, I am. And I will now go and spend some time with him… my father… Sheriff Stilinski.” He backs away towards the door. “I was just here to help bring in the shopping.”

 

“You were, were you?” Talia seems incredibly amused by his bumbling behavior, while Cora gives him a look that says clearly that he won’t escape her scorn in school on Monday. “Don’t you want to wait for Derek? I mean since you two are such firm friends? He’ll be home in a little while.”

 

Stiles is pretty convinced by now that he and Derek aren’t friends if they’ve ever even met. Why would Derek Hale, who was the school’s basketball and lacrosse star before the fire, even be aware of a dorky kid who’s the same age as his little sister? “Eh, that’s okay. I’ll catch him another time.” He almost jogs back to the car counting his blessings that no one’s stopping him and drives off as fast as he can. Wow, that was unexpected and so very uncomfortable. He thought he’d gotten used to being awkward and embarrassing, it’s kind of his thing, but that took humiliatingly terrible to a whole new level.

 

After a mile or so he brakes so abruptly he has to brace the steering wheel. “Oh, you fucking _dumbass_!” He turns the Jeep around, almost landing it in the ditch by the side of the road in his haste, and returns to the house.

 

This time Talia Hale has come outside onto the porch to receive him, her lips pressed together in a vain attempt to hide her amusement. “Forgot something?” she asks when he comes up the steps and stops on the one below her peering up at her. “I think there’s a shopping bag left in the trunk.”

 

“Yes. No… Mrs. Hale… I know this sounds like I’m crazy, well, crazi _er_ than I’ve behaved so far, but I have to ask: have you ever heard of a spell or a procedure called _Unfettered_?”

 

And just like that everything changes.

 

Talia’s smile disappears and she turns her head slightly without losing eye contact saying no louder than her normal speaking voice. “Cora, leave Jason with Mara and go find your grandmother and our sister.” Then she turns to Stiles. “Well, young man, will you walk into my parlor?”

 

Stiles is robbed of the obvious comeback by his knees buckling with relief, making him stumble as he tries to climb the last step. Talia grabs his upper arm and hauls him upright. He has a hard time not to hug her in his relief.

 

“How long’s it been?”

 

It takes him several attempts to speak because his throat is suddenly tight and his eyes are filling with tears. “Thir… thir… thirty-one days.”

 

For a few moments Talia puts her palm against his cheek, warm and comforting. “Let’s go inside.” She leads him to a room at the back of the house that he thinks might be the dining room, as it has just a large table surrounded by chairs and a long sideboard with flowers on top.

 

He sinks into one of the chairs, but gets straight back up when two women enter through the other door. One he recognizes as Laura, who looks very much like her mother, like a younger, slighter version of her. The other is the same in stature but much older, her hair cut short and almost completely grey.

 

“Stiles,” Talia says. “Or do you prefer Mieczyslaw?”

 

“I really don’t. Stiles is just fine.”

 

“Okay, Stiles, this is my mother, Rosa Hale, and you may know my daughter, Laura?”

 

He doesn’t answer the implied question and shakes hands instead. They all settle down at one end of the table, close together.

 

“First of all,” says Talia in a kind voice but very seriously, “You’re underage. Would you like your father present?”

 

“My… father? Does he know… I mean, about you?”

 

“Yes, he does. But as far as I know he hasn’t told _you_ or rather the _other_ you. Your father was a big help to us a few years back when my son got into some trouble.”

 

“Paige or Kate?” It just slips out before he can stop it.

 

The women stare at him. “Paige,” Talia says eventually and doesn’t ask any questions. Then she looks at the other two. “Stiles here is an _Unfettered One_.”

 

“Is he now?” says the grandmother, eyeing him even closer and with increased interest. “How long?”

 

“Thirty-one days, Ma’am.”

 

“Ahh, early days.”

 

Stiles’s heart sinks. “How long is it going to take?”

 

“As long as it takes, dear. Now first of all tell us a little about where you come from. What made you come to us?”

 

“Ehm, I was actually looking for Derek.”

 

Both Laura and Rosa look at Talia then back at Stiles. “Derek?” Laura snorts. “Why?”

 

“Stiles and Derek are good friends, aren’t you? You didn’t answer my question. Would you like your father present?”

 

He shakes his head. “No. I’m good. I’m nineteen where I come from.”

 

Laura chuckles again. “Oh my, Derek's gone and gotten himself a little boyfriend.”

 

The two older women give her a long look and Talia says in a cool tone, “If you can’t behave as befits your station and the hospitality we owe our guest, maybe you'd like to leave?”

 

Stiles has seen quite a few alphas by now, some of them scary as hell, mainly because they were a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but not one of them was as intimidating as Talia Hale. Her presence trumps any physical superiority and he’s utterly convinced that she’d win any fight against any foe.

 

“I’m good,” Laura says meekly. “My apologies.”

 

“Good.” Talia turns back to him and smiles. “Now, tell us everything about where you come from.”

 

Stiles hesitates. Geez, he hasn’t thought this one through, like, _at all_. He’s told people before that they’re dead in his world but never anyone as unsuspecting as the Hales. They let him walk right into their house, for goodness sake! Nobody was on their guard. Cora just looked at him without getting defensive, more concerned about his lack of manners than any possible attack. And worse than that, he most definitely doesn’t want to speak about Kate. It might change their whole opinion of Derek, which doesn’t seem very high in Laura’s case anyway.

 

He should start with Scott getting bitten. No, wait, then he’ll have to talk about Peter and that will lead back to Kate and Derek. “Everybody died,” he finally blurts out when the pause becomes too long and awkward. “All my friends, and my dad, everyone who meant anything to me died.” They all just look at him in silence until he cracks. “I’ve never met any of you.”

 

“But if you’re Derek's boyfriend and you haven’t met any of us…” Laura starts before her grandmother puts a hand over hers to stop her.

 

Stiles clams up again hoping that they’ll let him leave it at that. It’s Laura actually, who bothers him the most. He knows that Talia and her mother will understand but Laura? Maybe not so much. She’s Derek’s sister and even without siblings he knows how that goes. He keeps glancing at her but her frown doesn’t exactly make him feel better. He well remembers how angry the Hales are when they’re given a reason.

 

Talia ducks her head a little to attract his attention. “I am the alpha of my pack. It passed to me from my grandmother because she died when she was very, very old and my mother felt that she was too old to settle into the role. My intention was always to pass it on to Laura so I have given her that extra bit of attention and training since she was a toddler. How she conducts herself in this room and how she uses the information she’ll acquire here will define _her_ , not you, and not anyone you may be talking about. Nothing you can say will change anything for anyone here, including you. You come from a very different place and everyone there will have had good reason for the decisions they made. Ours is not to judge but we need to _know_.”

 

It’s very impressive how she just combined reassurance for him with a stern reminder to her daughter of what’s expected of her while at the same time reiterating her trust in her. Sometimes it feels like he should never be an adult, at least not a parent, because there’s a knack to it he can admire but never live up to. He sighs and starts with the night Scott got bitten because that’s where it all started for him. He keeps his head bent and his eyes lowered because he feels weirdly embarrassed as if what happened to the Hales is somehow his fault. It doesn’t matter. The women don’t need to see his expression or his eyes to know if he’s telling the truth.

 

He’s slow and methodical and they ask very few questions. In a sense it’s not important to them. Everything is already different here, better, and there’s no need to try and change or avoid anything. He’s not entirely sure why they want to know about his universe but he wouldn’t deny them even if they didn’t imply they might be able to help and he wants to stay in their good books. He gets stuck on Derek, a lot, mostly defending him against possible judgment.

 

Eventually Talia stops him with a smile. “No one’s blaming Derek. Not here and not in your world. But knowing him he’ll blame himself. He’s such a serious boy in so many ways, always trying to do the right thing and going the extra mile.”

 

“So who sent you on your journey?” Rosa asks.

 

“I think it was Deaton. He shows up in my dreams every night. Well, doesn’t show up so much as chews my ear off.”

 

“Alan?” Rosa and Talia exchange a look of not quite disapproval. Deaton’s not flavor of the month in the Hale house.

 

“Yeah, I think so. He knew about the procedure in the universe I confronted him so I’m assuming he _could_ do it. But he doesn’t know how to send me back. Can you send me back? You obviously know about the _Unfettered_. Can you help me get home?”

 

“Oh, sweetie, it doesn’t work that way.”

 

Nausea hits him abruptly when he realizes his hope’s been in vain. “You don’t know either.” Tiredly he buries his head in his elbows on the table. He’s going to cry. Or scream. Or hit something. He wants to trash the room and at the same time roll up in a tight ball in some dark corner and never come out again.

 

“Well, we know someone who came back,” Talia says neutrally. “Or rather we knew. She’s long dead now but she talked about it a lot. We can tell you how _she_ did it.”

 

His head comes up slowly because he doesn’t want to have hope but he can’t give up either. He most certainly can’t return Talia’s encouraging smile. It’s Rose who takes up the tale.

 

“When I was a child, my grandmother fell into in a coma. Nobody knew what was wrong with her. One day everything was fine the next day her mind was gone. You have to remember that we’re werewolves. We don’t have comas, not for long, and not without cause. But there she was. She was cared for at home, of course, for obvious reasons. She had her own room and everyone took turns to look after her at some point. Now, she was the alpha of our pack or I should say she was _one of them_. She and her twin sister became alphas together when their mother passed away. You’ve no idea how rare that is. It’s about as rare as your friend becoming a True Alpha. It happens maybe every couple of centuries or so.”

Stiles takes a moment to follow her drift. “She was _Unfettered_?”

 

Rosa smiles at him as if he’s a particular bright pupil. “Yes, she was. And Aunt Clara was her anchor. Their bond was magical. Although they both had kids neither of them took a mate. They lived and died together. When my grandmother died, Aunt Clara only survived her by a few days.”

 

“She… died?” His throat’s dry.

 

“Mother,” Talia admonishes gently. “Just tell him what happened.”

 

“Oh, sorry, dear, I don’t mean she died of being _Unfettered_. She was very old when she died. When she was _Unfettered_ she was still young. Aunt Clara called her back every day. Until one day my grandmother just woke up.”

 

“But that’s just it,” Stiles says. “I don’t have anyone to call me back. There’s only three people who I’d imagine could do it, would have a strong enough bond: my dad, my friend Scott and Derek. And they’re all dead.”

 

“Well, neither my grandmother nor Aunt Clara ever said why my grandmother actually went back. They both knew of course, but they didn’t say. But grandma talked a lot about being _Unfettered_. Well, to my mother and me at least. You have to know that this is alpha knowledge. Reserved for alphas and to be practiced by alphas only. If Alan did this for you or to you he was meddling with forces he can neither control nor understand. Emissaries always forget their station.”

 

“He’s not that bad,” Talia interjects mildly.

 

“If you say so, my dear. Anyway, I’m very impressed that you managed to do this. You’re not even one of us, never mind an alpha. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

 

“How long was your grandmother in the coma?”

 

“Just over two years.”

 

“Two y…” Stiles can’t even finish.

 

“Mother, you’re frightening the young man again. This is how it works, Stiles. You cast the spell. You travel through time but you can’t control how far you go and which way. It’s best not to make changes in the worlds that aren’t your own.”

 

“I don’t even know when I’m in my own world. Some are so similar. And what if I make a change in my own world, then it will suddenly not even be familiar anymore?”

 

“You need to listen to the voice.”

 

“For what?” He’s almost belligerent now because they’re making it sound so simple when it isn’t. “He’s just saying _Unfettered_ all the time, nothing else, what am I supposed to listen for?”

 

“Not the voice of the person who cast the spell,” Talia answers patiently as if now he’s a particularly slow pupil. “The second voice that calls your name. If you’ve never heard a second voice then maybe you haven’t been back in your own world again yet. _Have_ you heard a second voice?”

 

He shakes his head. Of course he hasn’t because there’s no one left to call him.

 

“That doesn’t mean that you’ll _never_ hear it. My grandmother said she only heard her sister three times in the whole two years. The first two times she wasn’t at a point in her past where she could make the change she wanted. You have to be very, very careful because you don’t want to follow the voice before your job’s done.”

 

Stiles rubs his face tiredly and doesn’t mention that he has no idea what changes he even wants to make, never mind how and when. But he’s getting to a point where he would follow any voice back to his own time, changes or no changes.

 

“Can I touch you?” Rosa asks in a sudden change of topic.

 

Stiles imagines some kind of mind melt and hesitates. Nobody should see their grandchildren’s sex life even if the person in his head is not exactly _her_ Derek and because he doesn’t want her to see it, so obviously it’s going to be all he’s thinking about.

 

“Maybe later,” Talia interjects. “Why don’t you have lunch with us? My husband’s just arrived home.”

 

Naturally Stiles didn’t hear any cars or voices. Then again, he’s in a house full of werewolves so he shouldn’t be surprised that they manage to sneak up on him. He nods. “Thank you, Mrs. Hale.”

 

Laura gets up and throws open the big double doors to the kitchen and Stiles is confronted with an older man who must be her father and… Derek. He watches a little overwhelmed as there are loud and enthusiastic greetings as if Derek has returned from a war.

 

“Derek's just graduated from Cambridge,” Talia explains after she’s given her son a long hug which was openly and happily returned. “Derek, this is Stiles. You remember Sheriff Stilinski? This is his son.”

 

“Stiles?” Derek mocks. “Nice to meet you Stiles Stilinski. Nickname I take it?”

 

“You take it correctly.” Stiles can’t breathe properly for a few moments. This Derek is so… fresh, all shiny and happy. “What did you graduate in?”

 

“English Lit. I mean when in England…”

 

“You graduated from Cambridge, _England_?”

 

“Indeed, my good sir.” His English accent is abysmal and makes everyone laugh.

 

Cora and her younger sister are quickly setting the table in the room Stiles had his meeting in just now. It’s mainly cold food, lots of cakes and pies but Derek and his father also brought several large take-away pizzas. Stiles tentatively shakes hands with Mr. Hale who is tall and imposing, only tampered by unruly dark brown hair.

 

They eat. It turns out that ‘Derek's just graduated’ literally means that. His father picked him up from the airport three hours ago and it’s not fair how Derek looks so effortlessly beautiful after a flight of god-knows how many hours plus the car journey. They’re seated next to each other at the table, no doubt by someone’s design, who thought this would be funny. Talia fends off a couple of questions the others try to ask Stiles about himself and everybody seems to get the message that he’s a guest and that’s all they need to know. It seems that _Unfettered_ really is alpha business only. No wonder there’s so little information to be had.

 

Stiles picks up some tidbits just by listening to the general flow of conversation. He manages to join in once or twice without giving anything away about himself, in fact he’s very good at it. He’s used talk to cover his anxiety all his life. It appears that Peter is away with another pack and not greatly missed. Mr. Hale, whose first name’s Joseph, is apparently a professor of Dendrology. The landlord Stiles talked with the loft tenant about this morning is also most likely Joseph Hale and not Derek.

 

Some years ago – Stiles guesses this was after his own father ‘helped’ the family with 'some incident', namely Paige – Mr. Hale was a visiting lecturer in England for two years and took his eldest son with him. And that explains how they’re all still alive. Derek finished school abroad and then stayed on to study there on a scholarship only returning for his vacations. He’s never met Kate.

 

The difference is astounding. Stiles’s heart bleeds for what _his_ Derek has lost. There’s such an easy-going atmosphere in the house and everyone is talking too loud and laughing a lot and that includes Derek. But he also finds some moments for a little quiet conversation with Stiles from time to time within the bustle of family life.

 

After lunch Talia takes Stiles for a walk out into the woods to see if he has any more questions. He has about a million of them but none of them are pertinent to his problem because that only poses the one: how do I get home? She talks about her great-grandmother and her tales of the _Unfettered_. Apparently the longer she traveled the more differences there were between worlds, like a cluster of worlds but you can only get to a handful of them from where you are, like a labyrinth of rooms where each has several doors but it’s just as likely you end up back in a room you’ve been in already. What you can’t do is jump from the front of the labyrinth to the end. You have to walk through each door and each room. Which is particularly difficult as you’re practically blindfolded but it also explains why he’s never been a famous movie star, or a CIA assassin or anything else far removed from his reality. Adjacent universes are similar. The further you go the greater the differences.

 

“You can touch me, if you want,” he says when they’re nearly back at the house.

 

“I don’t need to,” she smiles. “I watched you at lunch. I haven’t quite worked out what you are but I reckon there’s a bit of a spark in you. Maybe even a lot, if you were trained. But you’re also a chameleon. You adapt to your environment. That’s the reason you always feel slightly out of place. You’re never quite yourself and I suspect you never were even in your own world. You’re hiding in plain sight behind your wall of what… sarcasm? You use words to distract, to fend off getting hurt. That also makes you a good candidate for the spell. It’s possible to _unfetter_ you because you believe you’re not anchored anyway. You fear that the people who love you don’t see the real you. So you’re already self-contained in a way. It’s easier to remove someone self-contained than someone whose connections are holding them in place like tendrils.”

 

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s always been a bundle of anxiety and she’s right about the sarcasm. Did he always feel disconnected? Maybe since his mother died. He’s worried people will leave him, like, all the fucking time.

 

He doesn’t go back into the house to say goodbye to the others. It will be awkward enough if they ever meet Stationary Stiles, who won’t know them at all, except for Cora. Talia waits until he’s sitting behind the wheel of the Jeep. Then she says gently, “Thank you for telling me about the Argents. I’ll discuss it with your father. And I know you won’t believe me, Stiles, but you _are_ enough. You undertook this journey to save your friends and loved ones when you knew you may never come back. That proves your mettle. Very few people would have the determination to find a way and the courage to walk it. Believe in yourself because you’ve proved yourself.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hale.”

 

“You’re quite welcome. And if you ever see Derek again, tell him I said it wasn’t his fault and that I love him.”

 

“I will.” He starts the car because he doesn’t want to cry out here and he’s choking up. When he drives away he can see Derek standing on the porch watching him leave. At the very last moment when he’s nearly by the tree line, Derek raises his hand in goodbye. Then he and his mother walk into the house, arms around each others’ shoulders and laughing at something she says.

 

 

 

 

In the evening he takes some food for his dad to the station and has dinner with him in the break room. He pumps him for information about the Hales but his father is tight-lipped. If he really knows about them being werewolves then it’s no surprise he doesn’t want Stiles anywhere near them, especially after what happened with Paige.

 

His dad’s shift doesn’t end until midnight but Stiles goes home early because he wants to think about what he’s learned today before he falls asleep. Talia didn’t really have any concrete information for him but he would take her best guess over facts from other people any day.

 

She was obviously surprised that he managed to become _Unfettered_ in the first place. He got the distinct impression that just like her mother she thought only werewolves could accomplish it. Implied in that notion was the idea that it takes a pack-type of bond to remain anchored, which only adds to his fear that he has no one at the other end. She thought that being human is also the reason he can’t remember doing this because he lacks the single-minded focus werewolves have. It’s true that his memories have started to become hazy. It’s not too bad yet but he fears that he’ll end up no longer able to tell what happened in his past and what happened in other universes.

 

Maybe it’s also the lack of focus that causes him to jump helplessly from place to place. When he was a child he went to a fairground with his mother and they ended up in the labyrinth where he walked through the maze of see-through walls and doors without much problem. Nobody needed to tell him that if he went left all the time eventually he’d get out. Only the maze he’s in right now has no end, he could turn left and left again forever, not to mention that he doesn’t know where left is and wouldn’t know how to turn that way if he did because he can’t see or steer where he’s going.

 

Eventually he’ll move further and further away from where he started and things will become truly outlandish. Talia said her grandmother talked about a universe where werewolves were hunted and held in cages and one where the Hales lived in Paraguay of all places. So he might win an Oscar yet. She assumed that the time period he returns to the most may be significant and he does seem to end up in a similar time a lot. The nogitsune was the furthest in the future, but he’s never gone beyond that, to _The Year of Hell_ , for example.

 

Is that because he knows, however subconsciously, where he needs to be? Where would he start if he wanted to save everyone? Most likely at the very beginning, before Scott was bitten. He’s already been there twice and once on the actual night. Does that mean he’s supposed to stop everything in its tracks? But when he stopped Scott from turning into a werewolf, it didn’t turn out well, with the two of them ending up on opposite sides of a very deep dividing line.

 

Scott becoming an alpha went also very wrong in the other universe where he couldn’t cope with killing Peter as well as in Stiles’s past where becoming the True Alpha didn’t stop any of their friends from dying. Scott couldn’t even save Allison. Talia asked what Scott did with his special power and Stiles just shrugged. Being a True Alpha never seemed like much of an upgrade as it didn’t make Scott smarter or even stronger nor did it give him better leadership qualities. He was still just Scott. Talia smiled and said, “I see,” in that way that people have when they don’t want to comment.

 

The heart of the matter never changes though: without an anchor he can’t maintain focus, he can’t learn how to steer if that’s even possible, he can’t get back and he can’t identify his own universe – because he doesn’t have a voice to beckon him – because there’s no one calling him – because everyone’s dead. There’s only ever Deaton’s voice and that apparently is just the spell that lingers in his mind keeping him on his journey. The only time he heard anything else was when he dreamed about being in a coffin and then in the loft where Derek was trying to talk to him but he was distracted by his mom. Anyways, Derek was just saying his name a bunch of times.

 

He tosses his body around in his bed to look at the window. Maybe he should have stayed at the Hale’s for longer today. Talia or her mother may have had some more insights or he may have thought of a question that would have given him the vital clue. But Talia already spent more than two hours with him not including the family lunch and that on the day her son came back from having been abroad for months. She was so nice. He liked her. Having been told that Derek lost almost all his family and seeing them and how much he was loved are two very different things. It’s like saying to a stranger that he lost his mother when he was younger and they think they can empathize but they can never imagine the hole she left behind in his and his dad’s lives.

 

He squeezes his eyes together and tries not to think about it. Instead he tries to imagine how the Hales’ great-grandmother managed to return. She was in a coma or rather her body was in a coma while her mind was leaping through time and space. Her twin sister sat by her bed every day and called her name. But he doesn’t have a twin and as much as he loves him his father quite frequently doesn’t _get_ him. Scott often literally can’t follow Stiles when he goes off on a tangent because his mind simply works differently. So if Stiles were to choose someone to anchor him, to retain focus on him over a long period of time, however long it takes and to never give up, it would be Derek. After a certain point they just clicked and everything was easy. It’s not that they never disagreed or fought, it just didn’t matter. They’d forged an underlying bond of trust and understanding and love that formed an unshakable foundation for their relationship.

 

He turns the other way, looking at the wall now. He’d give anything to have that back. Derek had this way of saying his name, the different intonations telling him everything with no other words required. It could mean anything from _you’re annoying the shit out of me right now_ to _thank you for making me food after my full moon run_ to _I wanna fuck you so bad_ but it always, always meant _I love you and I’m here_ at the same time. He closes his eyes hoping to go to sleep and hear Derek's voice one more time even if it’s only in a dream.

 

Ten seconds later his eyes fly open again. “Fuuuck!” He sits up and stares into the dark, his breathing suddenly heavy and uneven, his whole body prickling as if his blood’s carbonated and his heart pounding into his throat. Derek did speak to him! Wasn’t he just thinking about how Derek was saying his name in his dream? The only dream he’s been able to remember! When was it? The coffin, when was that? Yesterday, no, the day before, he was in the coffin, then the loft, Derek called his name but he ignored it because of his mom and then… _oh, no, oh please, no,_ not the one where Scott hates him because Stiles made him kill Peter.

 

Ignoring the fact that his Derek is dead and somehow still talking to him because nothing makes sense anyway then according to Talia the second voice will tell him which universe is his and call him home. But he was there before, on the night he made Scott kill Peter, why didn’t he hear… _oh fuck, you’re such a fucking_ … whatever the word is for _you can’t get any less intelligent than that, dude_ , _seriously_. That wasn’t an echo you were hearing! That was your anchor calling you home! Even then. When was it? Day nine. It was there all along!

 

He bangs the back of his head rhythmically against his pillow, his eyes closed again, and chants, _shit, shit, shit,_ … under his breath. It looks like the one universe he really, _really_ fucked up is his origiality.

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely feedback, and apologies for not answering any of them. RL's kicking my butt again but your comments really helped. Thank you.

 

**_ Day 55 _ **

**__ **

“Stiles. Stiles! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare. Wake up, son.”

 

For the first time in his _entire life_ his father’s the enemy. “Lemme go!” Stiles struggles to get away from him, to withdraw into himself, to return… “Lemme go! He’s calling me. I wanna go with him. He’s just there! Derek! Get the fuck off me, Dad! Derek! Wait for me! Please, please, _pleeease_ …” _No, no, no, no, no, no, no… this can’t be happening._ It’s been more than three weeks since he last heard the voice, _his_ voice, _Derek's_ voice, saying his name. He wants to follow that voice. He’s ready. He’s been waiting. And now he’s awake and he’s lost the voice and he’s stuck here in this fucking nightmare _again!_  Putting his hands to his face he sobs out uncontrollably, “I wanna go home. I just wanna go home.”

 

“You _are_ home,” comes his dad’s most soothing voice, grating on Stiles like the harshest reprimand.

 

He turns away from him to the wall, folds his body as small as he possibly can and tries to stifle his tears. After some effort he succeeds but he doesn’t move. He distinctly remembers Derek calling him. He’s in his origiality and yet he missed his opportunity to go back. How long will it be until he returns here? What if he never returns here? What if this was his last ever chance? What if Derek gives up on him?

 

He can’t do this any longer. He wants to go home. To his real life, however fucked up it was. Maybe everything’s fine now. How else _could_ Derek be calling him? He wants to stop leaping from place to place. He wants _his_ Scott, _his_ dad and most of all _his_ Derek.

 

Suddenly his eyes snap open and he turns around to look at his dad, who’s tentatively perched on the very edge of the bed. He’s watching Stiles with that look that he sometimes has, the one that wonders if his son is just his normal level of crazy right now or if this is the beginning of a _we-need-medical-intervention_ kind of crazy. Stiles knows that just like that worry is always hiding in the furthest reaches of his own mind, it’s never completely forgotten by his dad either. He sits up and puts both arms around his father holding on tight and reveling in having that hold returned in kind.

 

“Dad,” he chokes out. Because this is _his_ dad. If he’s in his origiality, then this is _his_ dad like Scott will be _his_ Scott and Derek will be _his_ Derek. Just for one day he’ll be seeing them all again, and be able to talk with them and explain and… Scott will be almost feral, and Derek and Stiles will be in a relationship where they’re hate-fucking a lot and not much else. He’s reluctant to let go because at least his dad is how he always was, dependable and supportive, but he does because he’s been causing him to worry too much already.

 

“So who’s Derek?” his dad says after a few affectionate pats on the back.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You said Derek's calling you. And before you woke up, you were practically screaming his name. So who’s Derek? You never mentioned him before.”

 

“I didn’t?” Stiles absently rubs the back of his head. Ah, buzzcut. His dad doesn’t know what’s going on. Maybe it’s even before Scott killed Peter. Maybe he can make it better. “Uhm, he’s a new guy from school… exchange student… transferred in last week… from Mexico.”

 

“I see,” his dad seems amused now. “He must be really something if you have such vivid dreams about him… this new friend… from _Mexico_ … called _Derek…_ who somehow transferred in during _winter break_.”

 

Stiles tries not to wince. “Like you said, it was a nightmare. He’s a jackass really.”

 

His father doesn’t believe a word of it but he’s already in his uniform ready to go to work so he doesn’t have time to pry. “I’ll be back at five. Are you going back to sleep or do you want me to put the coffee on?”

 

“Coffee, please. I’m wide awake now.” Stiles barely waits for his dad to leave the room before he eagerly grabs his phone to check the date. Then he falls back on his bed groaning in frustration. He’s indeed landed before the time that Scott killed Peter but he’s way, way back to the time before Scott even got bitten. In fact, it’s the day before.

 

What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He can’t even remember what he did the day before everything changed. Hung out with Scott, no doubt, playing games, watching a movie, being teenagers – for one last day. He’s been carrying his guilt over what happened for so long, it’s become buried under one supernatural bad guy crisis after another. He never had the chance to apologize to Scott for dragging him into a life he didn’t ask for and didn’t want. And then there were other things to feel guilty about and then it was too late.

 

So here he is before it all began. For a moment there, hearing Derek's voice made him desperate to get back to him. Now that he’s properly awake and thinking rationally he wonders if he even _can_ without changing his past. Of course, he did change this timeline already and that might account for Derek calling him, but does he really want to condemn Scott to a life of depression and increasingly more feral full moons? Or Derek to becoming Scott’s caretaker in exchange for a truce with the hunters and living like a hermit in a patched-up house? How would the situation ever get from there to Derek trying to retrieve him from the past? And how would this be an improvement to what he left behind, apart from everybody being alive, of course? And even that he only knows for sure about the few people he saw that day. Everybody else may be dead for all he knows.

 

No, leaving things as they are is out of the question. If he went on this journey to save his friends and has spent nearly two months jumping around time and space, feeling confused and scared and lonely, then he’ll fucking well change things for the better, _much_ better. He has a bit of time to think and plan, in fact, he has a lot of time, because one thing seems pretty obvious to him: he needs to still be here tomorrow night to stop Scott from getting bitten. Scott becoming a werewolf has produced the two least desirable outcomes: the _Year of Hell_ and Scott killing Peter. Both should be avoided, so Stiles needs to be here to stop it happening.

 

It’s now eight o’clock in the morning and he must not fall asleep for even a second between now and about ten o’clock tomorrow night. Thirty-eight hours. He picks up the bottle of Adderall from his night table and shakes it. It’s at least half full so staying awake should be doable but he needs to set some other changes in motion, too. Just stopping Scott from becoming a werewolf will just put them on a path to become enemies again, so that’s not enough. He could maybe _not_ leave that note for Derek but then they may never meet and Derek will most likely die being on his own against the Argents. Just the thought of him being at the mercy of Kate makes Stiles feel like he needs a shower. Nope, definitely not the way to go.

 

Maybe he’s here a day early because it gives him time to help Derek out _and_ keep Scott from being turned? So far, telling Derek about the future that one time has had a good outcome. He definitely would want Derek to be forewarned and then he’ll have to hope for the best. Maybe he should leave Stationary Stiles a note, too, and they can help each other.

 

He tries to imagine how he would have reacted at sixteen to something like that. There would have been relief for an explanation after a blackout lasting a whole day or even two in this case. He would have been intrigued by the notion of time-travel and possibly nerdy enough to believe it. At the very least he would have tried to make contact with Derek. So a note-to-self and talking to Derek while keeping Scott out of it, should work.

 

It takes him until late morning to write to himself. This isn't just any timeline, this is the one he has to get right at all costs and he throws in every minute detail that may be useful. The more information the better. He closes his laptop, then also writes a note by hand to point Stationary Stiles to the file and to make sure he doesn’t believe this is a prank by someone who cracked his password. In reality his password would probably need a professional to break. He’s not Scott.

 

After a quick lunch, he drives out to the Hale house. Even knowing that Derek should already be staying there doesn’t stop him from feeling uncomfortable. The house always had a reputation for being haunted, so much so that some grown men would avoid it even in broad daylight. Naturally he and Scott already explored it in middle school but only the once. Scott had nightmares for a week.

 

“Derek!” he yells while he’s still outside. It doesn’t seem smart to intrude on Derek without announcing himself but when he doesn’t get a reply he cautiously enters the house. The floorboards and especially the stairs creak under every step. It only takes him a few minutes to ascertain that it’s deserted but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched.

 

Outside he takes a deep breath although the air out here is no different from the air inside thanks to every room being exposed to the elements in some way. He calls Derek one more time but the silence is deafening. Nothing seems to stir for miles. To be thorough he walks around the house once, finding the earth where Laura will be buried later still undisturbed.

 

He decides to wait around in his car for a bit. It’s not exactly balmy this time of the year and it seems safer somehow but as he walks towards it, he’s wrestled to the ground with a familiar sounding growl. Pretty brazen of Derek to wolf out in broad daylight and without cause because Stiles really poses no threat. But then he’s flipped onto his back and he’s not looking at Derek but into bright red eyes and a wolf form so grotesque that he could never forget the sight. Peter!

 

A moment later several things happen at the same time. First he feels the worst physical pain he’s ever experienced in his life just above his right hip as Peter bites down and seemingly tears a chunk of his flesh from his body. He screams without any other thought in his head than that it’s agony, his whole right side apparently on fire. Then there’s another figure slamming into Peter and dislodging him. Well, that must be Derek, the snarls and growls are incontrovertibly the sounds of a full-on werewolf brawl. Stiles tries to move away from the fighting but only manages to roll over once or twice. Fuck, that hurts. Did he mention how much it hurts? When he puts his hand to his side, blood runs through his fingers immediately, a lot of blood, too much blood.

 

He sees the figures separate and one of them running off but everything’s going hazy now. It’s a safe bet that the person fleeing is not Derek. That’s not his style, he’s more the self-sacrificing type fighting to the bitter end even when he has no hope of winning. Stiles feels sick and his last thought is, _oh no, no, no, no, can’t pass out, mustn’t pass out, not now, not today,_ before he does exactly that.

 

 

 

When he wakes up, he’s in a bed that’s not his own, the mattress being too lumpy and his bedroom doesn’t come with a hole in the roof either. Jeez, he feels strange, like he’s running a fever and a little sick. His thought processes are kind of hazy, too, when he tries to recall the previous day, which never happened before. Then suddenly it all comes back to him in a tremendous flood of all too vivid memories of pain. Oh god, Peter bit him before he managed to talk to Derek and now Derek's unprepared and will probably get killed. He fucked up, _again_.

 

It takes him a while to realize that he’s not alone. Derek’s standing by the window, mostly in shadow because it’s dark with just the moon providing some light. Routinely Stiles registers that it’s half full.

 

“How are you feeling?” Derek asks, still watching the outside. They’re definitely in the old Hale house.

 

“Like I’ve been bitten by a werewolf.”

 

Derek's by his side in a second, his eyes flashing blue and searching his face. “What do you know?”

 

Stiles huffs a humorless laugh. “Too much. Way too much. It’s a very, very, _very_ long story.”

 

“I have nothing but time. The good news is that the bite’s not likely to kill you if you survived this far.”

 

“I know it won’t,” Stiles says confidently.

 

“You don’t _know_ anything.”

 

“Actually, I do.”

 

“You can’t.”

 

“Can, too.”

 

Derek groans. “What are you, five?”

 

“What day’s it today?”

 

“Saturday… January, 12th… for another twenty minutes or so.”

 

“And the year?” Even in the almost dark Stiles can see Derek's eyebrows practically climbing to his hairline. “Just humor me, buddy.”

 

“It’s 2011… and this is planet _Earth_.”

 

Stiles chuckles. “Wolf’s got jokes. In that case I’m sixteen. Which has nothing to do with the planet we’re on, obviously. Just with the year. 2011. That’s what you said. I’m sixteen. Not five. I was five in the year 2000.”

 

Derek just stares at him and Stiles stares silently back. It’s good to be with Derek. He looks so young, with his hair spiked up and artfully curled in the front and a five o’clock shadow rather than stubble or a beard. How old was he in 2011? Twenty-one? A big age difference when you’re sixteen, not so much at nineteen.

 

“I’m not sure why I’m still here,” he says more to himself and Derek looks increasingly concerned as if he’s wondering how insane this newly-formed werewolf really is and how that will impact on his life. “I _am_ still here, right?” Yeah, that just makes Derek take a step back. He obviously has limits as to how much crazy he can tolerate in close proximity. Stiles ignores him for now. He must be still in the same timeline. Surely, it would be too much of a coincidence that he passes out from Peter’s bite in one universe and wakes up in exactly the same situation in another. Maybe unconsciousness doesn’t make him leap like sleep does.

 

He sits up ignoring how dizzy it makes him feel. “I need to go home. Can you take me home?... I let you drive my car.” He wiggles his eyebrows as if this offer is in any way tempting for a man who drives a Camaro.

 

Derek duly snorts his derision and they spend about ten minutes arguing whether it’s safe to leave here or not. The bickering is familiar and it makes Stiles smile. It’s just like old times. Eventually Derek gives up with an exaggerated eye roll and stalks out of the room. Unsurprisingly he then hangs about on the landing to make sure Stiles doesn’t fall down the stairs. Stiles can barely stop himself from hugging him.

 

When they get to his house, Derek stops the Jeep and gives him an incredulous look. “Your dad’s the _sheriff_?” he asks after eyeing the cruiser in the driveway.

 

Stiles winces a little because he just realizes that he’s out past curfew. “Yeah, but he’s harmless.” That he might be, but he’s also not likely to ignore a stranger his son’s bringing into his home never mind letting said stranger stay overnight. “Give me a few minutes then climb through my window. It’s the one on the left at the back.”

 

Derek frowns at the suggestion but Stiles is reasonably sure that he won’t abandon a newly-turned werewolf. He’ll want to do what he offered Scott: teach, train, form a pack. How much hassle he and Scott could have avoided if they’d just taken Derek up on his offer.

 

He enters his house, making sure his jacket is covering any signs of what happened and tries to placate his father’s tired lecture on staying out late without notice and not answering his phone with apologies he actually means for a change. Then he escapes to his bedroom but even though he can see Derek at his window he first walks to his desk and – _Yes! Hallelujah!_ – there’s the note he wrote to himself this morning. Then he unlocks the window.

 

Derek glides into the room with his usually stealth and grace while Stiles brings up the long file he created this morning on his laptop and motions Derek to read it. It’ll give him all the information Stiles has without having to talk and running the risk of alerting his dad to Derek's presence. It also gives Stiles time to take a shower. In the movies wounds that heal instantly always leave lovely clean skin behind whereas in reality, not so much. There’s still dried blood everywhere and his shirt’s ruined

 

When he comes out of the bathroom in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, Derek's standing in the corner behind the door, glowering at him. It’s going to be a long night.

 

 

 

Stiles wakes up on Monday morning with Derek's voice in his head. Despite his best efforts, following the call proves impossible. He simply doesn’t know how. But at least he has remained in his own timeline. The handwritten note is tacked securely to his pin board where he can see it from his bed. Derek is also still camping out on his floor.

 

Last night Stiles made sure Scott stayed safely away from the woods while Derek retrieved his sister’s body, well, half of it. So far so good. Today Stiles will go to school and pretend to be normal. During first period he hands Scott a pen and when the new transfer student, Allison Argent, is introduced and sits down at the desk in front of Scott, Stiles motions him to offer her the pen. That’s probably all he has to do.

 

The noise level is his biggest problem. Derek’s been trying to teach him all sorts of things but he just couldn’t master it all in one day. So, unexpected sounds make him jump, a lot. He feigns an earache to account for it.

 

The after-school lacrosse try-outs are also a problem in a whole new way. It’s hard enough trying to pretend you’re not a klutz when you are, but trying to pretend to be one when you’re not is on a completely different level. Apart from wanting to rip Finstock’s throat out if he doesn’t stop that incessant whistling and yelling it’s also more difficult than expected to see an opening in the game and not take it. He knows he can’t be on the team with his new powers and his hitherto decided lack of control, so he restrains himself to being only really skillful when he’s up against Jackson. That’s just too hard to resist. He makes up for it with a lot of ball dropping and falling over at any other time.

 

Lydia and Allison become firm friends within a few days and Scott and Allison fall in love even faster than that. She doesn’t seem to mind that he’s not athletic and had an asthma attack during the try-outs. Stiles listens to his best friend’s chatter about Allison’s many, _many_ virtues and tries not to shift in public. It helps that Derek's always there, even when he can’t see him. He’s outside the school during the day, near the lacrosse field during practice and in his room at night. They've grown into their own little pack as fast as Allison and Scott got together. Derek seems calmer than Stiles remembers him because of it. Stiles is also feeling safer with having a back-up in case he can’t control his shift.

 

Both Scott and Stiles get invited to the party on Friday night but Stiles cries off, saying he needs to wash his hair. It is after all the night of his first full moon. Derek talks about anchors and wants to chain him up but Stiles says he’s got it covered.

 

“Really? So what’s your anchor?”

 

Stiles smiles. “You.”

 

“What? No! It has to be someone or something that means something to you. Something you have a strong connection with.”

 

Stiles nods and doesn’t correct him. Derek only knows that Stiles has been time-traveling but he doesn’t know that they were a couple in the future. When Stiles wrote the note to himself he didn’t mention that because he didn’t want to influence his future self. He wants his relationship with Derek to remain untarnished by time paradoxes and self-fulfilling prophecies.

 

With Derek's help he gets through the night of the full moon unscathed and things become easier. It turns out that it’s not simple manipulating events when they’re not exactly the same as he remembers them. Despite Stiles’s warning Derek gets shot by Kate although saving him is easier because Derek doesn’t waste any time before coming to Stiles and Stiles can tell Scott where to look for the bullet they need.

 

By then they’ve told both Scott and Allison about werewolves. And hunters. Allison takes it well enough and has no problem grasping the difference between good supernatural creatures and bad ones, Derek and Stiles as opposed to Peter. Distinguishing between good and bad hunters is a little harder for her as she’s always been close to Kate. Inevitably things escalate despite everyone’s best effort, ending once again with Kate’s death and Derek killing Peter to become the alpha.

 

Stiles mainly assists and sets things up. Having the knowledge of hindsight in advance seems a little like cheating to him just like his powers would give him an unfair advantage on the lacrosse field. But surely that was the whole point of becoming _Unfettered_ in the first place. He encourages Derek to extend the pack to Isaac, Erica and Boyd in expectation of the arrival of the alpha pack. Derek is reluctant because he knows from Stiles’s notes that all of them died at some point. But Isaac could conceivably die in a freezer like he did before and both Erica and Boyd are miserable with their current life. Having been a beta for a while longer than the other three gives Stiles a certain status in the new pack that Derek cultivates over time. They form a unit at the top of the pack the other three are happy to accept.

 

When Gerard arrives in town, he’s under constant surveillance, from the pack, from Allison and even from Scott. As Jackson remains blissfully unaware of anything out of the ordinary going on, he doesn’t get turned into the kanima and therefore doesn’t give Gerard any power. Indeed the old man finds it hard to get a foothold in his own family. Victoria may be the bane of Scott and Allison’s life with her strict rules and general deprecation of ‘the boy’ and she may hate Derek and Stiles with a passion but she’s also not relinquishing any influence over her daughter or the family business to her father-in-law. She’s mostly unpleasant but she undeniably loves her husband and is less than welcoming when his disapproving father turns up. Gerard tries to hide it but the cancer is rapidly weakening him until he’s confined to his bed in a nursing home.

 

Jackson breaks up with Lydia as she becomes closer to Allison and her friends and suddenly Stiles finds himself at the center of Lydia’s attention. Letting her down gently is one of the more bizarre things he has to do. She doesn’t even now he’s a werewolf yet.

 

Around that time Stiles tells his dad what’s going on. With Derek by his side, he manages to persuade his father that he’s telling the truth and it even explains how Derek is somehow _not_ a transfer student from Mexico. They have long since stolen the other half of Laura’s body from the morgue, where she remained a Jane Doe, and buried it with the rest of her. The sheriff takes care of Matt Daehler by legal means. Stalking is not something he’ll ever tolerate.

 

Then Cora turns up out of the blue, having heard about the new Hale pack in Beacon Hills. Derek is ecstatic to have at least one member of his family back. The alpha pack arrives soon after and Lydia starts a relationship with Aiden. Stiles tries not to be disappointed that he can’t prevent it.

 

With Jennifer Blake trying to seduce Derek and everyone in the pack at risk from either her or the alpha pack in their own way Stiles doesn’t know whom to protect first. He’s in a constant state of hyper-vigilance, checking on everyone all the time and expecting life to blow up in his face at any given moment. He can’t prevent some of the sacrifices and feels guilty that he manages to stop Heather from being taken because it only means that another girl does. In the end he plays the alpha pack and the darach against each other with deadly results for most of them.

 

But as far as the pack is concerned the worst that happens is that Cora gets poisoned by mistletoe and Derek gives his alpha power to save her. Stiles can’t fault him for that and feels incredibly guilty. He did warn the pack about the poisonings but it’s just not possible to stop everything. He never realized before how much was always happening simultaneously. At least none of the parents get abducted but Lydia somehow starts to access her powers after a run-in with the darach.

 

However, Derek turning back into a beta turns out a blessing in disguise, at least for Stiles. Up to now Derek has refused to consider dating Stiles because he felt that with him being the alpha of the pack the power imbalance would be too severe. Now he actually makes the first move. Not that Stiles hid his attraction very well, or at all, but suddenly he finds that they’re in a relationship that doesn’t leave him much room to think, feel or want anything but Derek, Derek, _Derek_.

 

The first time Stiles spots Kira in school he has his first full-on panic attack since he became a werewolf. He doesn’t know how to stop the nogitsune. They don’t even have an alpha in the pack anymore. Even though Derek is still the undisputed leader with Stiles as his second, the fact remains that no one in the pack has alpha powers. Stiles always knew that he wouldn’t become a True Alpha. That takes a far more determined and focused mind than he’ll ever be able to provide even as a werewolf.

 

But if the demon is around HE either doesn’t show himself or Stiles doesn’t know about it. He and Derek have a long, difficult conversation with Mrs. Yukimura, who doesn’t give anything away about herself but somehow knows everything _about them_ at the end of it. When she says, “Leave it to me,” they have no choice but to trust her. After a few long weeks fraud with worry but no sign of the nogitsune, Stiles decides that the trust they reluctantly bestowed was born out.

 

Kira develops some kitsune powers that make her a great addition to the pack. Scott who broke up with Allison some weeks ago starts regretting that he never asked for the bite. Now that he’s with Kira, being a werewolf instead of an asthmatic teenager seems like a good idea. But no one wants the risk of asking some other alpha to bite him. It’s bad enough that the Hale pack is already known as ‘the Beta Pack’. They really can’t afford to show any weakness as they have to fight off enough challenges to take over their leadership as it is. Their saving grace is that the pack is quite large, with six betas, a banshee and a kitsune, all in the prime of their lives and becoming stronger each day.

 

 

 

 

 

Starting with the day he was bitten, Stiles wakes up every morning with Derek's voice in his mind. It took him weeks to accept that following the voice doesn’t mean what he thought it would. He expected to somehow be catapulted into the future as soon as he hears his name being called, that he’d wake up and Derek would be sitting by his bed, holding his hand. He didn’t expect that to get to his changed future he would have to live through the lead-up to it and the voice in his dreams would just serve to anchor him here.

 

It takes him a while to realize that he experiences time differently now. It works more like memory for him, if not for anyone else. He once read that the reason it feels that time moves faster with increasing age is because only significant events are remembered and ordinary life becomes a blur. As a child a lot of new experiences feel significant and exiting which later in life become mundane and routine and because children have more events they consider important in their days, time seems to pass slower.

 

The same is happening to him. Some days are passing at normal speed, when he’s busy juggling the lives of everyone around him to keep them all alive. When he has to work out how the changes he’s already effected influence the events he’s anticipating. Or the day that Derek kisses him for the first time or when they first have sex or the day Stiles realizes that his dad has accepted Derek completely as a person and as the man in his son’s life. But other days, those where nothing happens, where he twiddles his thumbs in school during lessons he’s already sat through once before, when he does chores for his dad or writes essays he’s already written, those days fly by. A week can seem like an hour and while he remembers everything that happened during that time it’s like he experiences it in fast-forward. There are nearly two years to be lived through, but about halfway through the first year he realizes that it will take him only about two months at this rate. He can do that.

 

However, the closer he gets to graduation the more nervous he becomes. He can’t think about anything other than that his timelines will align somehow and anything could happen. Neither he nor Derek can even remotely imagine how this will work because Derek doesn’t remember the other timeline at all and Stiles has thought too much about time paradoxes not to wonder if time won’t simply reset itself. If this is now the reality, he has no reason to travel back in time and that means no fixing of the old timeline, which will then be restored. His biggest fear is that he’ll be doing this forever on a giant two-year loop.

 

Two days after graduation Stiles spends the day practically glued to Derek in a hotel downtown, far away from the loft where he burned to death. Derek does own the loft, but it’s rented out anyway because the pack has rebuilt the house in the preserve. Stiles, however, is not taking any chances and has insisted on a room in the best establishment in town, feeling safer surrounded by people. Hunters will think twice about attacking in a busy hotel.

 

He stumbles blindly through another week. Derek fends off questions from the pack, tries to be supportive but Stiles senses that he’s just as anxious. The unit they’re forming within the pack becomes more pronounced than ever. Over time the others have come to the conclusion that Stiles is some kind of psychic or has an extra sense for predicting behavior and situations. He only ever had Derek to talk to because they never told anyone else about being _Unfettered_.

 

Derek tells Stiles he loves him for the first time six days after their night in the hotel, on the last day Stiles remembers from his old life. It’s the only indication that he’s just as scared as Stiles is. Stiles loves him more than ever because Derek’s been there for him the whole time, always simply asking, _what do you need_ , and then providing whatever Stiles asked for.

 

“I love you so much,” Stiles sobs, finally breaking down, “And if I don’t wake up in your arms tomorrow morning, I don’t know what I’ll do.” He cries for what feels like hours because he’s scared and exhausted and can’t shoulder this responsibility any longer. He just can’t. If he finds himself back in the _Year of Hell_ or somewhere in a different universe when he wakes up, he’ll just refuse to carry on.

 

Unsurprisingly he can’t sleep. They’re in his bedroom, squashed together on the small bed. His dad’s doing a night shift and probably thinks Stiles is having an episode for all the tears and the, _I love you, Dad,_ he somewhat awkwardly accepted before he left. Stiles is scared, so very scared, plain and simple. In the early hours of the morning he goes to the toilet and has a drink from the faucet and as he walks back into his room to try and get to sleep next to Derek, he feels a little off. It’s probably because he couldn’t eat much yesterday and now hasn’t had any food for twenty-four hours.

 

He can see Derek, who’s also still wide awake, get up in alarm and then it feels like he’s treading on air, like he’s miscounted the steps on the stairs and there’s no solid ground where he’s expecting it. “Derek,” he says not sure if he’s asking for help or just wants to let him know that he loves him and then everything goes black.

 

 

 

 

“Stiles.”

 

Waking up is like being pulled from molasses. He wants to open his eyes, wants to respond, wants to be on the other side of that barrier between sleep and wakefulness, but something’s holding him back.

 

“Stiles!”

 

He can feel the pull. Someone’s got hold of him and tries to pull him towards the surface. No, not someone, _Derek_. Stiles tries to help like he would push off the bottom of a pool trying to propel himself up and towards the air. But it’s slow, glacially slow.

 

“Stiles! _Com’on!_ ”

 

Then, suddenly he’s free. He breaks the surface, his eyes open and he finds himself in a hospital room. There’s an IV attached to his left arm but on the right side of the bed, there’s Derek, holding his hand, smiling, looking pale and exhausted.

 

Stiles wants to believe that he did it, that he saved everyone, that he’s in a different future of his own creation, a better one where no one died, where he and Derek are together and happy. He’s worked so hard for it. He _deserves_ it.

 

But when he first opened his eyes, Derek was still using all his strength to pull him awake and in that first moment, just for a second or two, Stiles distinctly saw his eyes flash red.

 

 _'No! Just no! I fucked up!_ Again! _How did I fuck it up_ this time _?’_

 

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

**_ Day 517 _ **

 

“Stiles?”

 

Wearily Stiles pulls his hand away from Derek, ignoring his hurt expression. He can’t deal with anybody else’s emotions right now when his own are crushed beyond repair. This is it. He looks towards the window and wonders which floor they’re on. Is it high enough to jump? He really doesn’t care which universe this is. Or what happened. Or what’s expected of him. He wants this to be over once and for all.

 

But he knows Derek will stop him from doing anything ‘stupid’. It isn’t stupid. Well, it is in the sense that he’s a werewolf and would almost certainly survive. But _really_ stupid would be starting all over again and hoping for a different outcome. He is _done!_ He did everything right, saved everyone he could and still he didn’t end the cycle. There’s nothing more to be done, no hope remaining and not an ounce of strength left.

 

“Stiles? What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m not Stiles. Not _your_ Stiles anyway.”

 

“Yes, you are. You’ve been time-traveling. Leaping. _Unfettered_. Any of that ring a bell? You’ve done it! You’re back.”

 

Stiles looks at him, at his radiant smile and for one crazy second wonders if he could just pretend. Could he get used to living as the Stiles of this universe? If he can even stay here? Talia was right when she called him a chameleon and he knows he can blend in. He’s always done it, blend in by sticking out. If people consider you odd anyway, they won’t get suspicious if you’re suddenly a little odder.

 

“I met your mother.”

 

“I know. You told me.”

 

It’s no use. He doesn’t want to manipulate people again. He wants a life where he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next and isn’t expected to fix all things broken. “You’re not _my_ Derek. Sorry. Wish to god you were.”

 

Derek frowns. “Of course, I’m _your_ Derek. What makes you think I’m not?” He takes Stiles’s hand again and Stiles allows it despite his better judgment. Touching Derek, any version of him, is always comforting to some degree.

 

“My Derek isn’t an alpha, not anymore.”

 

Now Derek looks utterly confused. “Uhm… neither am I?”

 

Stiles jerks his hand away, suddenly angry now. He loves Derek, he really does, but not this Derek and he’s too tired and too devastated to be gentle. “So in this world red eyes don’t mean alpha?”

 

“Of course, they do.” Derek smiles tentatively and flashes his eyes, a deep crimson. “But mine are blue, see?”

 

“ _Aaand_ you’re also colorblind in this world.” This conversation has zoomed right past desolate and curved all the way back to droll. The bickering that seems to characterize their relationship makes him ache with longing. He was so close – or thought he was.

 

After a pause Derek gets up and walks into the adjacent bathroom – trust Derek to spring for a private hospital room. It takes a while until he returns, one hand on the door frame as if he needs to hold himself up. “My eyes are red.”

 

“Yes. they. are,” Stiles says slowly, emphasizing every word.

 

“Why are my eyes red?”

 

“Why you’re asking me, dude? I just woke up from a coma.”

 

“They were blue this morning.”

 

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe you accidentally killed an alpha on the way here and didn’t notice… as one does.” He can't help being acerbic because he just can’t ignore Derek much as he wants to silently wallow in his misery. Ignoring Derek, yeah, that’ll be the day.

 

Derek comes over and sits by his side again. “That would be difficult since I haven’t left the hospital in weeks.” He gestures over to a corner where there’s a used cot and a bag, which most likely contains a change of clothes and a book or three. “Do you know what day this is?”

 

Stiles shakes his head silently.

 

“It’s Day Fifty-five. Remember how you told me that you jumped around time and space for fifty-four days and then on Day Fifty-five you stopped because you heard my voice? Well, you fell into a coma fifty-five days ago. I somehow knew that this would be the day you either wake up… or disappear forever.” He lowers his eyes for a moment as his voice cracks ever so slightly, then he takes Stiles’s hand for a third time and Stiles doesn’t resist. “Today I tried harder than ever to wake you up. At first there was nothing, but then I started to shift and focused even more and it was like I broke through some kind of wall, like a power surge. And suddenly I had all these memories. I thought they were yours at first, that maybe I was in your mind somehow, then I realized they were mine. I remembered everything you told me from the day I met you and Scott in the woods to the day the hunters came to the loft but it was like it was my life, not something I just heard from you. Then there was a jump and I was back in the basement but instead of just Scott it was Scott _and you_ who freed me and I let Scott kill Peter and everything was fucked-up until one day you turned up and told me you were time-traveling again. Then I was suddenly back to the day after I came back to Beacon Hills to look for Laura and you came to the house and Peter bit you. That’s the most vivid, the one I’d consider my real life. But I remember the other two lives as well. It’s as if I lived three lifetimes. And I can tell you now, this is the one I’d like to stick with if you don’t mind. Especially now that you’re awake.”

 

“I remember something, too,” Stiles says, absentmindedly stroking his thumb over the skin of Derek's hand in a very familiar way. “I remember my life before Deaton sent me back in time. I actually remember him coming to me and offering this spell.” He frowns. What the fuck? Deaton always maintained that he must have been forced to _Unfetter_ Stiles. “The bastard told me it was completely safe and that I needed to go back and save Scott and all would be well. Why am I not surprised he had a secret agenda?”

 

Over the last two years Stiles and the pack have steered mostly clear of the vet. Scott still works there but he isn’t a werewolf so Deaton hasn’t taken much of an interest and the few times he approached the pack Stiles always shut him down quickly. “I bet this is all about Scott becoming a True Alpha. Your mother said something about it. Like there are powers involved that Scott could or should have been using. She was pretty dismissive when I said it made no real difference to him.”

 

He trails off and looks at Derek who’s looking just as pensive as Stiles feels. Stiles would bet any money that a True Alpha has, or at least can develop, all sorts of powers. Something that happens so rarely and is so revered in the community is bound to come with a lot of perks. Deaton must have wanted to harness them and Scott dying on him was not in his plans so he sent Stiles to change events more to his liking.

 

For a few moments there’s silence. Stiles relishes the physical connection of their fingers interlacing. He doesn’t know how it happened but he’s starting to believe that this is _his_ Derek. There’s something about him that feels right.

 

“You _are my_ Stiles,” Derek says as if he’s reading minds now.

 

“Did you say you shifted? Before you broke through the wall of memories? You said you shifted, right? And that there was a power surge.”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t really mean to shift, not here. You never know who might walk in unannounced. It just happened. I tried to reach you and I was so close but I just couldn’t bridge that last stretch. And I was so worried that I’d never get you back if I didn’t manage it today, so I pushed harder and harder. And suddenly it worked. I got those memories and I felt like we connected.” He looks down at their hands, frowning, until suddenly his head comes up sharply and his eyes are wide and astonished.

 

Stiles grins, having stumbled upon the solution at the same moment. “By strength of will alone,” he smirks, sounding very smug. “You fucking did it! You became a True Alpha! You _are_ _my_ Derek.”

 

“I know,” is Derek's only reply. Then he gets his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and retrieves a small piece of paper. “I was going to stick this up on the wall so it’s the first thing you see when you wake up but then I was worried the cleaners or someone would remove it and throw it out.” He unfolds it and holds it up for Stiles to read. It’s the by now tattered note he wrote to himself on the first day he got here. For two years it has been his touchstone. He looked at it every morning so that he could be certain he hadn’t leaped overnight.

 

Stiles rips the IV line out of his arm without much care. He’s a werewolf, he’ll heal and the pain will be temporary. It’s worth it so he can throw his arms around Derek's neck. He can hear Derek take a shuddering breath close to his ear and he realizes that the note may have been reassurance but his real touchstone has always been Derek.

 

“I love you so, so much,” Stiles says in a choked voice.

 

He pulls back a little with the intention of kissing Derek, but when he does, he notices tears on his face. He’s only seen Derek cry once before, when Boyd died. It makes Stiles cry, too, from sheer relief that it’s finally over, that somehow they made it through against all odds and he falls in love just that little bit more. He doesn’t deserve someone like Derek, who’s smart and beautiful and funny and kind and so incredibly loyal. Sometimes it hurts to look at him because he _shines_.

 

“You saved me,” he says and wipes Derek's cheek with his palm.

 

Derek does the same for him only a little more delicately with his thumb. “I think you have that backwards, don’t you? I was dead and you went back in time to bring me back, to bring everyone back. Which reminds me, we should call your dad. And the pack.”

 

“Yeah, you just try calling anyone before you’ve kissed me. I want to able to say that you woke me up with true love’s kiss like Sleeping Beauty.”

 

Derek chortles and complies.

 

 

 

 

 

“You ready?” Derek asks, stopping the Camaro in the empty parking lot.

 

“Oh yes.” Stiles is brimming with anger. When he got home, he slept for twenty hours, followed by the pack leaving the house with demonstrative noise as he and Derek reacquainted their bodies to each other with due diligence. Now he’s ready for a fight.

 

The vet surgery is closed for the night but they let themselves in anyway and stop at the barrier. Ah yes, mountain ash – which Stiles can no longer pass. Deaton stands away from the counter by the wall looking serene.

 

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

 

“You can tell me why you _Unfettered_ me.”

 

“I told you before I know nothing about that.”

 

“Yes, you did, but here’s the thing: I remember what happened and Derek remembers what happened. And I’m thinking that if my anchor remembers then the guy who cast the spell remembers, too.”

 

Deaton shakes his head slowly. “Well, you’re wrong.”

 

Stiles looks at Derek and Derek smiles first at him then at Deaton. “And you’re lying.”

 

Deaton huffs. “And how would you know? Even if I _were_ lying – which I am _not_ – I’ve fooled alphas before, so two betas wouldn’t be a problem.”

 

Derek's smile deepens and he flashes his eyes in that beautiful red that Stiles loves because it’s so well deserved.

 

“What the…? How did you…?” For the first time Deaton loses his composure and his eyes flicker worriedly to the wooden barrier that’s imbued with mountain ash. He must realize that it no longer constitutes quite the protection he thought it did. “You can’t be a True Alpha. You’re just not strong enough. Or worthy…”

 

“Are you sure you want to piss off a newly-turned alpha?” Derek asks menacingly. “I mean, who knows if I’m in control of my powers yet? And, you know, that little mountain ash barrier won’t keep me out for long. And once _I’m_ through, _Stiles_ will be through as well. And you really want to try and avoid _that_ , I can assure you.”

 

“Yeah, Derek's just a pussycat, really, compared to me. So shall we try this again?” Stiles asks pleasantly. “Why did you send me back in time?”

 

It takes a long time until Deaton answers, obviously weighing his options. Eventually he says, “Scott was a True Alpha. It would have been a crime to allow all that power to just die. I’d have thought you’d be glad for a chance to save your best friend.”

 

Wow, that sounds like a pathetic excuse if ever there was one. Stiles doesn’t need to see Derek's brief shake of the head to tell that’s a half-truth at best. “Did you expect me to come back?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Now Derek growls and again Stiles knows that the answer came way too fast. “So you were hoping I would resurrect Scott but stay gone. Why?”

 

Finally dropping all pretense, Deaton shrugs. “Scott’s malleable. But only when he’s not with you.”

 

“Ah, I see,” Stiles nods. “After Talia saw right through you, you wanted an alpha you could control. And who better than Scott, who had no experience, and with me lost in the space-time-continuum, he would naturally turn to you. Very clever.”

 

“Well, I didn’t know you had the hots for that sad excuse for a Hale.” Deaton glowers viciously at Derek, who returns the look unperturbed. "I thought it was bad enough that you have a bit of a spark in you when you're not riddled with your well-deserved self-doubt. It's a disgrace that you two of all people could pull this off."

 

Filing the last part away under _Explore your spark potential later,_ Stiles finally understands Deaton’s inexplicable aversion to Derek. As the Hale pack emissary he should have taken Derek under his wing but he must have known that Derek wouldn’t accept advice or guidance from someone who for all intents and purposes was a stranger to him. “That sad excuse as you so incorrectly called him became a True Alpha just because he had the will and the strength to do so and believe me, he’ll be neither malleable nor will he neglect any of the powers that come with it, whatever they may be. You’ll have the pleasure of watching the Hale pack return to its former glory and maybe beyond. We've been keeping things afloat when we were just a beta pack, now watch us soar.”

 

With that, Stiles nods pleasantly as if they just had a conversation about the weather and walks towards the door. There was never any question of revenge. To get some closure, he just needed to know why and he needed Deaton to know that he knows. In fact, with Deaton’s ill will towards Derek seeing him rise from the ashes is probably revenge enough. And in a twisted sense Stiles wouldn’t have the blessings he has today without Deaton.

 

“You’re no longer welcome in our territory.”

 

They didn’t discuss this but Stiles can see the wisdom in Derek's declaration. It’s just prudent to ask a hostile druid and emissary to leave. Why run the risk of allowing him to stay? He turns to look at Deaton’s reaction and sees him pursing his lips for an impertinent reply. Which gets stuck in his throat when Derek puts his hand on the wooden partition, which crackles and sprays blue sparks. Despite the obvious strain Derek doesn't just lift it but rips it off its hinges and drops it casually to the floor. However, although the way is clear now, he doesn’t step through just looks at Deaton, who’s shrunk back further along the wall. Then he turns and leaves the surgery. Stiles smirks at Deaton and can’t resist mouthing very smugly, “ _True_ Alpha,” and pointing a finger gun at him. Then he follows Derek to the car.

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles should be happy really and maybe that’s the only problem: that he expected to be blissfully happy and he isn’t. As it is, the only feeling he’s aware of is exhaustion. Physically he’s fine. The doctors were unsurprisingly astonished that he walked out of the hospital on the same day as he woke up, when his muscles should have been too weak after two months of non-use. Stiles just couldn’t bring himself to pretend for form’s sake. He still finds it hard to appear less physically capable than he really is. Being well-coordinated, incredibly strong and fast and even graceful at times will never get old after a youth spent mostly flailing awkwardly and falling over a lot. He can’t abide pretense any longer.

 

However, the constant and prolonged stress and vigilance he’s experienced over the previous weeks, months, years even, have taken their toll on his anxiety-riddled psyche. It’s as if his mind is shutting down, refusing to cope or even consider the most mundane tasks. Doing the shopping? Not a good idea to send Stiles if the pack wants to eat. Reading a book? Maybe the first page 239 times. That’s as good as reading all 239 pages once, isn’t it? Watching a movie? He’s yet to stay awake for the end of one.

 

He worries and what’s more, he notices his dad worry that this is the beginning of the curse his mother left him with. He doesn’t think it is but you never know. He’s been hiding the truth about what’s happening for a long time and now, when it’s all over he just wants to forget about it. He doesn’t want to worry any longer that he might accidentally spill any of his story or destroy an outcome he wants to preserve. He doesn’t want anyone to think he’s crazy by telling them what went down when he could just pretend it never happened.

 

About a month after he woke up from his coma, Derek comes up to their bedroom one afternoon to tell him his father’s downstairs. Stiles has been sleeping up to fifteen hours a day and he still feels shattered. He can’t shake the leaden weariness that has taken hold of him. It’s understandable as he didn’t really sleep while he was _Unfettered_. At least he thinks it’s understandable but he knows that Derek's getting concerned about him.

 

So he drags himself out of bed and walks down the stairs to find the whole pack assembled. Ah yes, he forgot it’s movie night. His dad gets up from where he’s sitting in one of the big armchairs they all vacate whenever he visits and gives Stiles a one-armed hug. Stiles can’t help but notice the worried look he exchanges with Derek.

 

Okay. Maybe enough is enough. “Sit down,” he says gently and everyone in the room turns towards him expectantly. Without prompting Boyd leans over for the remote and switches the TV off. Stiles moves to one of the couches and sits down with Derek close by his side. “So, there’s something I should tell you…”

 

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Scott pipes up and it’s Lydia who taps him on the back of the head none too gently.

 

Stiles smiles because Scott will always be indomitably good-natured. “Never change, bro,” he says and then takes a deep breath to tell them all what happened. So far it made sense to only tell Derek because Stiles was worried that too many people knowing the truth would make it hard to control events in the future. And he didn’t want to tell them he’s time-traveling and then refuse to give in to their inevitable demands to know what happened or will happen or whatever. As long as only he and Derek knew, they could react faster if things didn’t turn out quite the way Stiles remembered them. Especially later on as everything became more variable and unpredictable due to the changes they’d already made, the two of them were more flexible than the whole pack would have been.

 

His biggest worry is what the others will say. How will they react to the fact that he’s neither psychic nor miraculously adept at reading situations or people but was simply using a walkthrough for the last two years? Will they feel cheated? But what is more: even if he doesn’t tell them, will they look at him the same way in future? He’s no longer at an advantage, so will he be enough as plain old Stiles to warrant his position in their estimation? Will he be enough for Derek?

 

A few cheerful remarks at the beginning of his tale soon peter out as the others listen in stunned speechlessness. It’s as hard to talk about it as he expected. After all this time the _Year of Hell_ still leaves him raw. He daren’t look into anyone’s face and stares at his hands which are interlaced with Derek's. Of course, Derek now also remembers that time and squeezes his hand when his voice falters occasionally.

 

There’s a long silence at the end of it all before everyone starts talking at once.

 

“So that’s why you told me to stay away from the kelpies.”

 

“I was a werewolf? A True Alpha?”

 

“Deaton did that to you?”

 

“Peter came back to life?”

 

“Should we try and find Malia?”

 

“I died?”

 

“You never said anything for two years?”

 

“Oh god, that sounds terrible.”

 

“Does Parrish even know he’s a hellhound?”

 

Stiles looks over at the person he’s most concerned about and his father looks back at him with a bewildered expression on his face. “Are you okay, Dad?” What he really wants to know is if his father will forgive him for keeping him in the dark for so long. He’s done somewhat better with the openness and the sharing in this second attempt at a life but this is still huge.

 

His dad nods. “Yeah, I am. It’s just… I’m just so proud of you, son. You’re a hero. You saved us all.”

 

The pack joins in eagerly with not so much thanks but appreciation for what he did and he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. He needed to do this. No more lies. No more secrets. He gets up when his dad does and they hug it out like they so often do. But Stiles looks over his father’s shoulder at Derek, who’s smiling at him and his worry about not being enough for him evaporates. There must be a reason they’ve ended up together in pretty much every universe.

 

Over the last two years Derek has believed his crazy story about being _Unfettered_ without question and without proof. In all that time he went on nothing but Stiles’s word, the word of a guy who, on his mother’s side, is predisposed to a disease that’s pretty much defined by saying crazy things and still, once past his initial hesitation, he never doubted and never wavered. And in the end, he became a True Alpha, because that was needed to save Stiles and Derek would do anything for him.

 

And Stiles knows that his dad got it _oh so wrong_ because without the shadow of a doubt the real hero, in this life and any other, is Derek.

 

 

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. And thank you also in particular for your wonderful feedback.


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